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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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.
"Ivarstead, eh? That's a long, bumpy ride all the way around the mountain base," Bjorlam calculated, tapping his chin. "And with a party of this size... the wagon is going to be sitting mighty heavy on the axles. It's going to tax the horse."
Bjorlam looked back at Aerion, giving him his final price.
"With this number of people, the price for a direct ride to the base of the mountain will be eighty septims, my Thane."
Aerion didn't even blink. He offered a smooth, agreeable nod.
"A perfectly reasonable price for the distance," Aerion accepted.
He didn't reach for a physical coin purse. He casually reached his right hand beneath the flap of his dark leather satchel, seamlessly accessing his digital void.
He materialized a small, heavy pouch and tossed it underhand up to the driver's bench. Bjorlam caught it easily, the clink of gold securing the contract.
"Pleasure doing business," Bjorlam grinned, tucking the pouch away. "Climb on in, folks! It's going to be a tight squeeze, but we'll get you there."
The heavily armored team clambered into the back of the covered wagon, shifting their heavy supply packs to make room. Aeloria squeezed in next to Valdemar, their steel armor clanking loudly, while Lydia took the rear bench beside Jenassa.
Aerion climbed in last, taking his seat near the front with Lupin resting comfortably across his boots. "We are read," Aerion called out, tapping the wooden frame of the canopy. "Take us to the village, Bjorlam."
"Hyah!"
Bjorlam aggressively flicked the heavy leather reins, the sharp snap echoing clearly in the crisp morning air. The massive, muscular draft horse let out a heavy snort, leaning forward into the wooden harness.
The thick, iron rimmed wheels of the heavy wooden carriage groaned loudly in protest against the sheer, unprecedented weight of its passengers, before finally beginning to roll steadily away from the Whiterun Stables.
As the wagon merged onto the main paved road and turned eastward, Bjorlam cast a wide, highly jovial grin over his shoulder.
"I have to say, it is an absolute honor to be driving the two newest Thanes of Whiterun this morning!" Bjorlam called out over the rumbling of the wheels. "Congratulations to the both of you! The rumors were flying around the Bannered Mare and the stables all night. They say the two of you marched straight out to the Western Watchtower and managed to slay a dragon!"
Bjorlam shook his head in sheer, profound disbelief, his hands gripping the reins tightly.
"By the Eight, can you all actually believe it?" the carriage driver continued, his voice dropping slightly as a genuine shudder ran down his spine. "Dragons. Actually returning to Skyrim. The old wives' tales and the drunken bards were telling the truth. There's been word coming down the trade routes of massive, winged shadows being sighted all across the province over the past few weeks. None of them have done a full, unprovoked attack on a settlement yet, aside from what happened at the watchtower... but just imagining it makes my skin crawl."
He looked up at the sky nervously.
"It makes my line of work infinitely more dangerous," Bjorlam muttered pragmatically. "I mean, how in Oblivion am I supposed to protect myself or run away from a dragon? A beast that could just swoop out of the clouds, grab me and the horse in its claws, or just spit its fire and frost down on the wagon? I drive a wooden box. It's a death trap."
Aeloria leaned forward slightly, the heavy steel of her armor gleaming in the morning sun.
"Thank you for the kind words, Bjorlam," Aeloria smiled warmly, her voice carrying its usual, boisterous strength. "It was an incredibly terrifying experience, but we did what had to be done."
"Indeed. You have our thanks, Bjorlam," Aerion added, his melodic voice smooth and perfectly composed. He adjusted the cuffs of his dark robes. "And yes, the rumors are entirely true. We did assist in bringing the beast down. It was a massive, combined contribution from our team, which is precisely why the Jarl chose to elevate both Aeloria and myself to the rank of Thane. Though, as you already know, my massive mammoth farming operation on the western plains heavily contributed to the political weight of my specific title."
Bjorlam nodded his head enthusiastically, expertly guiding the horse around a large pothole.
"Aye, I know all about the mammoth farm, my Thane," Bjorlam agreed, tipping his hat. "Everyone in the trade circles knows you've practically cornered the market on heavy winter furs before the snows even hit the central plains. Brilliant bit of business, that is."
Aerion offered a modest, aristocratic smile before shifting his tone to address the driver's highly valid survival concerns.
"However, regarding the return of the dragons, your fears are entirely justified," Aerion warned him, his golden eyes hardening with cold, tactical realism. "I have faced one directly, Bjorlam. Let me assure you, it is an absolute nightmare. Even with an entire company of Whiterun's absolute best, most highly trained soldiers supporting us, we suffered massive casualties. The beast was incredibly fierce."
Aerion leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on his knees.
"My professional, tactical suggestion to you is this," Aerion advised smoothly. "Do not wander too far on these long, isolated cross country routes anymore. At least, not unless you are explicitly hired by people like us. Only take fares from established mercenary groups, heavily armed sellswords, or veteran adventurers."
Bjorlam listened intently, recognizing the absolute value of the High Elf's advice.
"If a dragon attacks the road," Aerion continued pragmatically, "a merchant with an iron dagger will die instantly. But a group of hardened mercenaries will at least possess the combat capacity to protect themselves. They likely won't be able to kill the beast, but they will be able to draw its aggression and distract it long enough with arrows and magic to buy you the necessary time to successfully abandon the carriage and run for your life."
Bjorlam swallowed hard, processing the grim reality of his new working conditions.
"You're right, my Thane. You're absolutely right," Bjorlam agreed, nodding his head emphatically. "It's a win win for them and for me. I'll start being vastly more selective about who climbs into the back of my wagon."
The driver then cast a curious glance toward the two towering, heavily armored Nords sitting rigidly in the back, whom he had never seen before.
"I take it the two new folks in the heavy steel are your assigned Housecarls, then?" Bjorlam asked knowingly. "I've heard those who earn the Thane position in the Jarl's court usually get a sworn sword assigned to them. Official protection and all that."
Aerion nodded his head, gesturing gracefully toward Valdemar and Lydia.
"Yes, they are," Aerion confirmed. "Valdemar and Lydia, sworn to carry our burdens and protect our lives. So, do not worry for the duration of this specific trip, Bjorlam. If a dragon decides to swoop down upon the road today, they will gladly step out and fend it off for you."
Bjorlam let out a loud, booming laugh, clearly relieved by the heavy combat presence currently weighing down his axles.
"Well, I thank you kindly for the protection, my Thane!" Bjorlam chuckled, snapping the reins again to pick up the pace. "But I sincerely hope no dragons decide to test that theory today!"
With the pleasantries concluded, the group settled into the long, rhythmic, deeply uncomfortable reality of cross country carriage travel.
The journey out of Whiterun Hold was a scenic, winding route that followed the natural, rushing curve of the White River. As they rolled eastward, the towering, golden plains of the tundra slowly gave way to sheer, jagged mountain cliffs and dense, rocky ravines.
They passed the towering stone outcropping of White River Watch, a notorious bandit encampment situated high above the road. A few hours later, the dark, gaping maw of the Greywinter Watch cavern slid past their peripheral vision.
As the carriage rumbled around a sweeping bend in the river, Aerion's sharp golden eyes locked onto a highly specific, magically resonant landmark situated atop a high, grassy cliff directly overlooking the road.
It was a massive, ancient standing stone, glowing with a faint, eerie, ethereal green light. The stone was surrounded by crumbling, ancient pillars.
'The Ritual Standing Stone,' Aerion identified instantly, his transmigrator mind calculating the sheer, overwhelming utility of the artifact.
In his past life, the Ritual Stone was one of the most overpowered abilities in the entire game. Once a day, the user could unleash a massive, localized pulse of necromantic energy that would instantly resurrect every single dead body in the immediate vicinity to fight for them, completely bypassing the standard level caps and summoning limits of traditional Conjuration magic.
'I make an mental note to stop by this specific cliff on our return journey from High Hrothgar,' Aerion schemed inwardly, a cold, calculating smile touching his lips. 'Just as I gained the knowledges, experience, and power from the Mage, Warrior, and Thief stones outside Riverwood, absorbing the residual energy of the Ritual Stone could prove to be an apocalyptic trump card. A localized, mass resurrection protocol would turn the tide of any major battle.'
But he did not order Bjorlam to stop. The pilgrimage to the Greybeards took absolute priority.
The carriage continued its relentless march. They passed beneath the imposing, heavily fortified twin stone arches of Valtheim Towers.
A few bandits peered down from the high wooden bridges spanning the rushing river, but upon seeing the towering High Elf, the heavily armored Dragonborn, the Morag Tong assassin, and the two Whiterun Housecarls, the outlaws wisely decided to keep their bows lowered and let the wagon pass without demanding their usual toll.
They rolled past the dark, subterranean entrance of Darkshade, and a few miles later, the grim, ancient Nordic architecture of Hillgrund's Tomb appeared on the horizon.
As the afternoon sun began to arc across the sky, the geography of the province began to drastically shift.
They crossed a massive, ancient stone bridge spanning a churning waterfall on the White River, officially leaving the borders of Whiterun Hold behind.
The air grew noticeably cooler, carrying the thick, damp scent of pine and rich, turning soil. The foliage transitioned from the sparse, dry grass of the tundra into dense, sprawling forests of towering pine and ancient, golden leafed birch trees.
They were entering the borders of Eastmarch and the Rift.
They passed the hidden, rocky ravine that housed the Lost Knife Hideout, and soon after, the imposing, heavily ruined stone walls of Fort Amol loomed out of the mist, occupied by a rotating garrison of spellswords and rogue mages.
Shortly after passing the fort, Bjorlam slowed the draft horse. They crossed a second, narrower stone bridge over a roaring tributary.
"Hold on back there!" Bjorlam called out. "We're leaving the main road!"
Bjorlam expertly pulled the right rein, directing the heavy carriage completely off the smoothly paved, cobblestone main highway and onto a rugged, deeply rutted, muddy dirt road that wound directly southward into the dense, autumnal forests of the Rift.
The ride immediately became significantly rougher. Aeloria and Valdemar bumped shoulders several times as the carriage violently jolted over exposed tree roots and deep mud puddles.
They passed the dark, waterfall concealed entrance of Darkwater Pass. The dense canopy of golden and orange leaves overhead blocked out the majority of the sunlight, plunging the dirt road into a perpetual, misty twilight. They followed the winding path westward for several miles, navigating the steep, mountainous terrain, before the road finally curved sharply southward again.
As they rolled past the dark, bear infested maw of Pinepeak Cavern, the dense tree line finally broke.
Situated directly ahead of them, nestled peacefully in a lush, misty valley at the absolute base of the most impossibly massive, towering mountain in all of Tamriel, was their destination.
"There she is!" Bjorlam announced, pointing his whip toward the horizon. "Ivarstead."
As the carriage rolled slowly into the small, isolated village, the sheer, staggering scale of the Throat of the World became terrifyingly apparent. The mountain didn't just touch the clouds, it completely pierced the heavens, its jagged, snow capped peaks entirely lost in the freezing white mist thousands of feet above.
The village of Ivarstead itself was a quiet, rustic settlement consisting of a few sturdy wooden farmhouses, a lumber mill situated on the rushing river, and a large, central inn.
The local residents, dressed in simple, heavy spun wool and thick furs, paused their daily chores to look up as the massive, heavy carriage rolled over the cobblestone bridge and into the center of the town.
However, they only offered brief, apathetic glances before entirely ignoring the heavily armed group and returning to their work. Ivarstead was the staging ground for the Seven Thousand Steps. The locals were entirely accustomed to seeing heavily armed travelers, zealots, and strange pilgrims passing through their quiet home on their way up the mountain.
Bjorlam expertly guided the draft horse into the small, dirt courtyard directly in front of the village's only major establishment, the Vilemyr Inn.
He pulled back on the heavy leather reins, engaging the wooden brake with a loud, final creak.
"Whoa, easy now," Bjorlam soothed the exhausted horse. He turned around, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Well, folks, we have finally arrived. Safe and sound in Ivarstead."
Aerion stood up gracefully, smoothing his dark robes, completely unaffected by the hours of jolting travel.
"You have my thanks, Bjorlam. A flawless drive, as always," Aerion praised the driver smoothly.
As the strike team began to heavily dismount, their armor clanking loudly in the quiet village courtyard, Aerion turned back to the driver with a proposition in mind.
"Bjorlam," Aerion requested politely. "Our business up on the mountain will likely take the entirety of tomorrow to conclude. Would it be possible for you to stay around the village and wait for us? If you are willing to hold your carriage here until we return from the peak, I will gladly pay you a total of one hundred and sixty septims in return. That covers your waiting time, and includes the full payment for our express ride back to Whiterun."
Bjorlam's eyes widened slightly at the incredibly generous offer. Earning one hundred and sixty septims for simply sleeping in a warm inn and waiting for a day was a massive financial windfall for a simple carriage driver.
Furthermore, his pragmatic survival instincts flared perfectly in line with Aerion's previous advice.
Bjorlam nodded his head enthusiastically, a massive grin splitting his bearded face.
"Why, of course I can, my Thane!" Bjorlam accepted without a second of hesitation. "Honestly, with the rumors of those dragons flying around the province, I feel infinitely safer traveling the long roads with all of you anyway. It is an absolute win-win solution for the both of us."
Aerion smiled, a smooth, satisfied expression. "Excellent. I will pay you the full sum when we return to the carriage."
Aerion was the last to dismount, stepping lightly down from the wooden step with Lupin the fox cradled comfortably in his arms. He placed the familiar gently onto the cobblestones.
"Form up. We secure lodgings for the day before begin our climb," Aerion says to his team.
They walked across the small dirt courtyard and pushed through the heavy wooden double doors of the Vilemyr Inn.
The interior of the tavern was dimly lit, smelling heavily of roasted venison, spilled mead, and the damp, wet wool of traveling cloaks.
Despite the isolated nature of the village, the inn was surprisingly packed. Several local farmers were nursing tankards of ale near the hearth, while a half dozen weary, lightly armored travelers, pilgrims preparing for the brutal climb, were huddled around the wooden tables, speaking in hushed, reverent tones about the Greybeards.
As the towering, immaculately dressed High Elf entered the room, flanked by two heavily armored Whiterun Housecarls, a terrifying Morag Tong assassin, and a towering Nord woman in full Steel Plate, the ambient chatter in the inn noticeably died down.
Aerion ignored the stares of the pilgrims. He walked with total, unbothered aristocratic grace directly toward the main wooden counter.
Standing behind the bar was the innkeeper, a stocky, completely bald Nord man named Wilhelm. He was currently wiping down the polished wood with a dirty rag.
As Wilhelm looked up and saw the High Elf approaching, his jaw tightened. Ivarstead was a deeply traditional, highly isolated Nordic settlement steeped in the ancient lore of the province. The resentment toward the Altmer, fueled by the Thalmor atrocities during the Great War, ran incredibly deep in these rural parts.
Wilhelm actively wanted the wealthy traveler's gold, so he wouldn't outright refuse service, but his deep seated racism demanded he make his displeasure known.
Wilhelm threw the dirty rag over his shoulder, leaning heavily against the counter. He looked Aerion up and down, a look of thinly veiled, highly sarcastic passive aggressiveness completely masking his face.
"Well now, there's a sight you don't see every day," Wilhelm drawled, his tone dripping with a mocking, entirely insincere courtesy. "A high and mighty Elf, wandering all the way out into the dirt and the mud of the Rift. What exactly are you doing all the way out here in our quiet little village, traveler? Did you take a wrong turn on your way back to the Summerset Isles?"
Wilhelm offered a tight, utterly fake smile, tapping his thick fingers against the wood. "Let me guess. You're looking for a warm bed, some hot food, and not much else to do with us simple folk," Wilhelm continued sarcastically. He crossed his thick arms over his chest. "Well, whatever it is you want, the coin spends exactly the same here as it does anywhere else. Welcome to the Vilemyr Inn. What'll it be, Elf?"
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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