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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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."
Inside the high wooden palisades, the atmosphere was entirely different from the panicked, chaotic streets of Whiterun.
Here, there was only the steady, disciplined hum of a well oiled military and economic machine. The deep, rhythmic breathing of the domesticated mammoths sleeping in their reinforced enclosures in the back of the homestead provided a surprisingly soothing background noise to the crisp evening air.
"This way, Boss," Sinmir instructed, his heavy steel boots crunching against the gravel as he led Aerion away from the main path.
They walked toward the massive, elongated wooden structure that had originally been constructed as a bulk storehouse for mammoth cheese and heavy furs.
Over the past few weeks, under Sinmir's pragmatic, military minded direction, the interior had been successfully converted into a highly functional, utilitarian sleeping quarters for the growing mercenary company.
The wide, packed 1dirt courtyard situated directly in front of the storehouse had been entirely repurposed into a dedicated sparring and training arena.
Heavy wooden training dummies wrapped in thick mammoth hide were spaced evenly across the yard, alongside several weapon racks holding blunted iron swords and heavy wooden shields.
As they approached the courtyard, the sharp, ringing sound of steel clashing against steel echoed in the twilight.
The five new recruits were currently engaged in intense, rotational sparring drills.
While the veteran members of the company were out walking the perimeter and patrolling the nearby plains to ensure no lingering threats are on sight or around, the rookies were actively testing each other's mettle.
Aerion paused at the edge of the yard, his golden eyes sweeping over the new additions to his private army.
There were four men and one woman. They were all Nords, possessing the typical broad shoulders, pale skin, and rugged hardiness of the province's native sons and daughters.
But what immediately caught Aerion's highly analytical eye was the weapon resting in the hands of the youngest man in the group. He wasn't holding a broadsword or a heavy battleaxe. He was holding a smooth, polished golden dragon staff, his fingertips sparking with the faint, ambient blue light of resting magicka.
'A Nord mage,' Aerion thought, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. 'A rare breed in this time in Skyrim.'
One of the recruits, a massive, heavily bearded man swinging a wooden practice greatsword, caught movement in his peripheral vision. He turned, seeing his Captain standing there, accompanied by a towering, immaculately dressed High Elf.
"Stop everyone!" the bearded Nord called out, immediately lowering his practice weapon.
The other four recruits instantly ceased their sparring. They quickly sheathed their blunted weapons and wiped the sweat from their brows, hastily forming up into a straight, disciplined horizontal line in the center of the dirt yard.
They looked at Sinmir, slamming their fists against their leather and iron breastplates in a crisp, unified salute.
"Captain!" they greeted loudly.
Then, as one, the five recruits turned their gaze toward Aerion. They did not show a shred of the typical Nordic suspicion toward the Altmer. They had clearly been briefed, or had simply connected the obvious dots regarding the sheer wealth of the estate and the High Elf's commanding presence.
They bowed a bit from the waist, offering him the unquestioning respect demanded as the owner of the company.
Aerion stood tall, projecting a flawless, aristocratic aura of calm authority. He did not speak immediately, allowing the heavy silence to test their discipline. They held the bow perfectly.
"At ease," Sinmir barked, stepping forward.
The new members straightened up, standing rigidly at attention.
"You all already know who this is, even if you haven't seen his face until tonight," Sinmir addressed the line, his voice a low, gravelly growl that carried the absolute weight of command. "This is the Patron. The true owner and primary financier of this company, and the owner of this estate. And as I have drilled into your thick skulls since the day you signed the contract, his identity, his involvement, and his business are absolute, unbreakable secrets. You do not breathe a word of this to the tavern wenches, you do not boast to the city guards, and you do not write it in letters home. Understood?"
"Yes, Captain!" the five Nords responded in low tone perfect unison.
"Good," Sinmir nodded, satisfied with their volume. He gestured toward the line. "Now, introduce yourselves to the Patron. Rank and specialty. Speak clearly."
The recruit on the far left, the lone woman of the group, took a confident step forward. She had fierce, striking features, her blonde hair shorn close to the scalp to prevent it from being grabbed in a melee.
"Liara Gungstrav, Patron," she introduced herself, her voice sharp and commanding. "One handed weapon and my shield are my favorite. Sword and board. I spent three years guarding the caravans down south before I got tired of the work around there. I could hold the like for you boss."
She stepped back. The massive, bearded Nord took his turn.
"Torbjorn, Patron," he grunted, tapping the heavy iron greatsword strapped to his back. "Two handed weapons lover. I break the lines Liara holds."
The next two men, Halvar and Rorik, introduced themselves respectively as a dedicated scout who specialized in the hunting bow, and a fast skirmisher lover who dual wielded iron war axes. They were rugged, battle tested, and clearly eager to prove their worth.
Finally, it was the turn of the young Nord standing on the far right of the line.
He was slightly leaner than his heavily muscled companions, wearing thick leather armor reinforced with subtle, arcane stitched runes rather than heavy iron plates.
He stepped forward, clutching his wooden staff. When he looked up at Aerion, there was no fear or simple mercenary respect in his eyes, there was a rooted, unadulterated academic admiration.
"Eirik, Patron," the young man introduced himself, his voice steady despite his obvious nerves. "An Apprentice in the arts of Destruction magic and novice in warding. I am a mage."
Eirik hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting quickly to Sinmir, before looking back at the towering High Elf. He took a deep breath, deciding to speak his mind.
"If I may speak freely, boss... it is an absolute honor to stand before you," Eirik said, his voice thick with genuine reverence. "Not just as a mercenary greeting his employer, but as a student of the arcane greeting a master."
Aerion raised a single, flawless eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "Oh? Explain yourself, Eirik."
The young Nord mage swallowed hard, gripping his staff.
"I know the Nords of this province generally despise magic, boss. They call it a coward's tool," Eirik explained passionately. "But there is a small, quiet circle of dedicated scholars, alchemists, and hedge mages in Whiterun who actually study the arts. And within our circles... your name is spoken with the highest praise."
Aerion remained perfectly still, though his transmigrator mind was rapidly processing this entirely unexpected, grassroots reputational development.
"You are an Altmer, yes," Eirik continued, speaking with hurried, earnest respect. "But you completely lack the blind, suffocating, self centric arrogance of the Thalmor Justiciars who march through our lands demanding worship. You are a realist. The magic you wield isn't used to oppress, it is used with devastating, practical efficiency. The rumors of the sheer depth of the arcane knowledge you possess in your mind... they are legendary among us. To serve a scholar of your caliber is why I signed the contract."
A profound, incredibly satisfying warmth spread through Aerion's chest.
He had spent the last several months meticulously, ruthlessly building his reputation in the land and with two Jarls, the nobles, and the elite merchants of the province.
He had sought political power and economic monopoly. He had entirely failed to realize that his actions, his public displays of flawless magic and his calm, rational demeanor, had organically, accidentally cultivated a massive, devoted following among the quiet, academic underclass of Skyrim.
It was a brilliant, highly advantageous side effect of his public persona.
Aerion offered a smooth, deeply appreciative, and incredibly warm smile. He dipped his head in a slow, respectful nod to the young mage.
"I am genuinely touched by your words, Eirik," Aerion replied, his melodic voice completely devoid of his usual, aristocratic mockery. "To be recognized not just for my steel, but for my mind, by the scholars of this city is a high honor indeed. I thank you for your kind words. Your arcane talents will be heavily utilized in this company."
Aerion then swept his golden gaze over the entire line of recruits, raising his voice to address them all.
"Welcome to the company, all of you," Aerion proclaimed, his voice ringing with absolute, inspiring authority. "You have chosen a path of blood, steel, and gold. I expect you to work hard. I expect you to follow the tactical direction of the veteran members, and I expect your absolute obedience to Captain Sinmir."
He paced slowly down the line, meeting each of their eyes.
"Starting tomorrow, under the Captain's direction, you will begin taking minor contracts across the hold," Aerion instructed. "Clear out bandit camps, hunt down rogue beasts, and escort supply wagons. You will build your names, and by extension, you will build the fearsome reputation of this mercenary company. You will strictly follow the patrol routes assigned to you to ensure this estate remains an impenetrable fortress."
He stopped, offering a final smile.
"Execute your duties flawlessly, and you will find that your free time is completely your own, and your coin purses will never be empty," Aerion concluded. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal clear, Boss!" the five recruits says, slamming their fists against their chests once more.
"Dismissed. Return to your practices," Aerion ordered.
The recruits immediately broke formation, their faces glowing with renewed, fierce motivation, and eagerly returned to their sparring.
Aerion turned away from the yard, gesturing for Sinmir to walk with him. They left the sounds of clashing practice swords behind, walking slowly toward the large, warmly lit main house situated at the center of the compound.
"They possess excellent raw potential, Captain," Aerion noted approvingly. "You have a good eye for talent."
"They're green in military combats, but they're hungry, Boss. Give me a month, and they'll be a unified members of this company," Sinmir grunted proudly.
As they approached the wooden steps of the main house, Aerion shifted the conversation from martial logistics back to cold, hard economics.
"And what of the company's financial ledger, Sinmir?" Aerion inquired smoothly. "I provided a significant sum of initial funds to establish this company. How is the money situation currently looking? Are we bleeding gold to maintain this roster?"
Sinmir let out a low, deeply satisfied laugh, shaking his head.
"Not even close, Boss. The financial situation is doing incredibly well," Sinmir reported, a massive grin on his scarred face. "In fact, we are completely in the black. The income the boys and girls are pulling in from taking local bounties and merchant escort contracts is highly substantial."
The mercenary captain quickly listed off the logistics.
"The contract gold is more than enough to fully cover the weekly wages of every single sword on the roster," Sinmir explained proudly. "It comfortably covers the cost of maintaining, sharpening, and repairing their equipment at the city forges. And it completely pays for the massive amount of food, ale, and mead required to keep a dozen mercenaries fed and happy. The company is officially, entirely self sustaining. We haven't had to dip into your personal reserve funds in weeks."
Aerion stopped at the base of the wooden stairs, a look of profound, sociopathic satisfaction washing over his flawless features.
This was exactly what he had engineered. He had successfully built a privately owned, highly lethal, rapidly expanding paramilitary force that essentially funded its own existence. He possessed a personal army that cost him absolutely nothing to maintain.
"That is exceptionally good news, Sinmir," Aerion praised him, clapping a hand firmly onto the massive Nord's armored shoulder. "You have exceeded my expectations. Keep up the great work. Ensure the contracts flow, and keep the men sharp."
"You can count on it, Boss," Sinmir saluted crisply. "I'll return to the perimeter patrol."
Sinmir turned and marched back toward the outer wooden walls, leaving Aerion standing alone on the porch.
Aerion turned the heavy iron handle and pushed the door to the main house open.
The interior of the homestead was a haven of absolute, luxurious warmth. A massive fire roared in the central stone hearth, casting a brilliant orange glow across the expensive woven rugs and the polished wooden furniture.
Aeloria had already stripped off the heavy, suffocating layers of her Steel Plate armor. She was currently sitting comfortably on a large, fur draped chair near the fire, wearing simple linen trousers and a tunic, looking completely exhausted but incredibly relaxed.
Jenassa was sitting quietly at the end table, meticulously running a whetstone along the edge of her iron dagger. Lupin the fox was curled up into a tight, cinnamon colored ball on a rug near the hearth, already fast asleep.
"The homestead is secure, Patron?" Jenassa asked, not looking up from her blade.
"Flawlessly," Aerion confirmed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. He unclasped his heavy outer robes, hanging them on a wooden peg near the entrance.
"Good. Then I highly suggest we all get some rest," Aeloria yawned massively, stretching her muscular arms over her head. "I feel like I've been trampled by a mammoth."
Aerion chuckled, moving to take a seat near the fire. "Rest is exactly what the schedule demands. Tomorrow will tax our endurance to the absolute limit."
They sat in comfortable, quiet camaraderie for nearly an hour, the tension of the day finally bleeding out of their muscles.
Suddenly, a heavy, sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from the heavy oak door.
Aerion stood up smoothly, walking to the door and pulling it open.
Standing on the porch, their heavy steel armor gleaming in the moonlight, were Valdemar and Lydia. They both looked slightly winded from the fast march across the tundra.
Slung securely across their broad shoulders were two massive, incredibly heavy leather backpacks, bulging with the thick winter furs, climbing ropes, and preserved rations Aerion had ordered them to purchase.
"We have secured the supplies, Thane Aerion," Valdemar reported, his breath pluming slightly in the cool night air. "We marched directly here from the market."
"Excellent timing. Come in, both of you," Aerion instructed, stepping aside to let the heavily burdened Housecarls enter the warmth of the house.
Lydia and Valdemar stepped inside, carefully lowering the massive, heavy supply packs onto the wooden floorboards with a loud, simultaneous thud.
"The perimeter outside is heavily guarded by a mercenary company who said they were hired by you, my Thane," Lydia noted, her dark eyes scanning the comfortable interior of the house. "Do you require us to stand guard inside the hall for the night, to make sure they wouldn't enter in?"
Aerion shook his head immediately, offering a firm, practical smile.
"Absolutely not, no need to worry about them they are trusted," Aerion commanded gently. "We have a massive, brutal climb ahead of us tomorrow. I need your muscles rested, not stiff from standing at attention all night. Strip your heavy armor, put your weapons aside, and sleep."
He gestured vaguely around the large, spacious main room.
"Take the comfortable chairs near the hearth, or unroll your bedrolls upon the rugs on the floor. Wherever you are most comfortable," Aerion instructed. "Just ensure you get some sleep."
"Thank you, my Thane," Lydia nodded gratefully, already reaching up to unbuckle her heavy steel pauldrons.
With the entire expeditionary force finally assembled under one roof, the house settled into a deep, profound silence. Aerion retired to his private master bedroom, while the rest of the warriors claimed their spots around the dying embers of the hearth fire. Within minutes, the soft, rhythmic sounds of deep sleep filled the homestead.
The next morning arrived with the crisp, golden, freezing light of the Whiterun dawn.
Aerion was the first to wake. He engaged his system, allowing the massive reserves of Stamina to instantly flush the sleep from his mind. He dressed swiftly, ensuring his dark robes were perfectly arranged, and stepped out into the main hall.
The warriors were already stirring.
"Rise and prepare yourselves!" Aerion announced smoothly, his voice acting as a gentle, yet firm alarm clock. "Check your weapons, secure your armor straps, and divide the winter supplies evenly among your packs Lydia and Valdemar. Today, we march for Ivarstead. Today, we climb High Hrothgar."
The room instantly sprang into coordinated, military action.
Aeloria groaned slightly, her muscles protesting, but quickly began buckling the heavy plates of her steel armor back onto her frame. Jenassa checked the tension of her bowstring. Valdemar and Lydia began distributing the heavy fur cloaks and the climbing ropes.
Lydia, demonstrating the profound, versatile utility of a dedicated Housecarl, quickly moved to the kitchen area. While the others armored up, she utilized the preserved rations to whip up a massive, boiling iron pot of simple, thick potato and leek soup over the hearth fire.
They ate quickly, standing around the fire, the hot broth warming their chests and providing the necessary caloric foundation for the grueling journey ahead.
Once the bowls were scrubbed and the packs secured tightly to their backs, Aerion led the team out of the homestead.
They walked briskly through the morning mist rolling across the tundra, retracing their steps back toward the city. They are heading straight down the cobblestone path toward the Whiterun Stables.
Parked in its usual spot near the horse pens, smelling faintly of wet wood and hay, was the familiar, heavy wooden carriage.
Bjorlam was sitting on the driver's bench, casually chewing on a piece of straw, adjusting the heavy leather straps on his massive draft horse. He looked up as the incredibly intimidating, heavily armed group of five people and one red fox approached his carriage.
"Good morning, Bjorlam," Aerion greeted smoothly, stopping near the front wheel.
"Morning, Aerion! Or should I say, my Thane!" Bjorlam grinned widely, tipping his hat. The news of the Jarl's decree had clearly already reached the stables. "Looks like you folks are packed for a serious expedition. Where to today? Back into the frozen swamps?"
"No swamps today, Bjorlam," Aerion replied, looking up at the driver. "We require transport to the Rift. Specifically, we need to reach the village of Ivarstead, which was at the foot of the Throat of the World."
Bjorlam paused his chewing, looking over the massive group. Two towering Nord Housecarls, a heavy armored warrior, a Dark Elf assassin, a High Elf mage, and a fox.
Bjorlam let out a long, low whistle, shaking his head slightly.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 540/540 Stamina: 560/560 Magicka: 750/750
Level: 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: 82,277