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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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?"
Aerion did not bristle at the blatant, venomous disrespect dripping from the innkeeper's voice. His golden eyes remained perfectly calm, his flawless, aristocratic features completely unbothered by the rural racism of the Rift. He had dealt with significantly vastly more dangerous entities than a disgruntled bartender.
Instead of rising to the bait, Aerion simply offered a small, incredibly polite, yet highly condescending smile that completely dismissed Wilhelm as a non threat.
"I have no desire to trouble you or your simple folk, innkeeper," Aerion replied smoothly, his melodic voice projecting a terrifyingly calm undeterred tone. "I merely require lodgings for myself and my group. I would like to rent five rooms for the day."
Wilhelm let out a loud, derisive snort, crossing his thick, hairy arms tightly across his chest. He looked the High Elf up and down, entirely unimpressed by the fine robes.
"Five rooms?" Wilhelm mocked, a harsh, humorless laugh barking from his throat. "You think this is the Winking Skeever in Solitude, Elf? We don't have five empty rooms just sitting around waiting for high born travelers. There are only three rooms available today."
Aerion's smile didn't waver, but his gaze sharpened slightly, cutting directly into the Nord's eyes.
"Is that the truth?" Aerion asked softly, his tone completely even. "Or is it simply that you deeply dislike the shape of my ears, and you are actively attempting to deny me service?"
Wilhelm snorted again, leaning forward heavily against the polished wood of the counter. He wasn't intimidated, but he was a businessman.
"Of course I don't like you," Wilhelm stated bluntly, entirely unapologetic about his prejudice. "But why in Oblivion would I need to lie to you about something as mundane as empty beds? I run an inn. I like gold better than I hate Elves. The other rooms have already been rented out to the pilgrims making the climb. I have three rooms left. So, would you like to take them, or would you prefer to sleep out in the freezing mud with the local bears?"
It was a standard, pragmatic, take it or leave it rural ultimatum.
"I will take them," Aerion accepted gracefully, unfazed by the hostility. "The beds in these rooms... are they sufficient to accommodate two people comfortably?"
Wilhelm shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Some of them are. The master room has a large double bed. The others are standard cots. You'll have to figure it out amongst yourselves."
Aerion didn't argue the logistics. He casually reached his hand beneath the flap of his dark leather satchel, seamlessly connecting to his digital transmigrator void.
He pulled his hand out, dropping three heavy, golden ten septim coins directly onto the counter. The gold clinked loudly against the wood, a sound that instantly softened Wilhelm's glare.
The innkeeper swept the coins off the counter, slipping them into his apron pocket. He reached beneath the bar and pulled out three heavy, brass keys tied to small wooden blocks, sliding them roughly across the wood toward the High Elf.
"Rooms are down the hall to the left," Wilhelm grunted, turning his back to wipe down a stack of dirty ale mugs. "Don't cause any trouble, or I'll have the town guard throw you in the river."
Aerion picked up the keys, completely ignoring the empty threat, and turned back toward the center of the taproom where his heavily armed strike team was waiting.
"There's a minor inconvenience for our lodgings," Aerion announced as he approached the group. He held up the three brass keys. "The inn is operating near maximum capacity due to the influx of pilgrims. There are only three rooms available for the six of us. We will need to consolidate our sleeping arrangements and share the quarters."
The moment the words left his mouth, the strict, uncompromising military programming of the two Whiterun Housecarls instantly activated.
Lydia stepped forward, her dark eyes entirely serious, her posture rigid. "Then the arrangement is simple. I will share the room with my Thane. I shall sleep upon the floor at the foot of your bed, Thane Aerion, to ensure no assassins or thieves bypass the door during the night."
Valdemar, not to be outdone in his sworn duties, immediately thumped his fist against his steel breastplate, turning to the towering Dragonborn. "And I shall do exactly the same for you, Thane Aeloria. My blade will not leave your side."
Aerion looked at the two intensely loyal, incredibly rigid Nord warriors, and let out a soft, highly amused sigh. He raised a hand, immediately halting their protective fervor.
"While I deeply appreciate the absolute, unwavering dedication to your oaths," Aerion reasoned smoothly, injecting a dose of necessary social pragmatism into the conversation, "we must observe the basic proprieties of civilized society. If a male Housecarl locks himself in a single room with a female Thane, or vice versa, the rumors spread by the loose lips in this tavern will reach Whiterun before we even descend the mountain. It will unnecessarily complicate our political standing."
Aerion smoothly orchestrated the room assignments.
"We divide by gender to completely avoid any scandalous whispers," Aerion instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Men with men, women with women. Valdemar, you will share the room with me. Aeloria, Lydia, and Jenassa, you three will divide the remaining two rooms amongst yourselves. Take the master suite with the double bed to accommodate the armor."
Lydia and Valdemar hesitated for a fraction of a second, their protective instincts warring with their absolute obedience to their Thanes. But seeing the flawless, indisputable logic in Aerion's command, they offered simultaneous, crisp nods.
"As you command, my Thane," Lydia conceded.
"A highly practical arrangement," Jenassa agreed quietly from the shadows.
"Excellent," Aerion smiled, handing the keys out to Valdemar and Aeloria. "Now, we have a brutal, vertical ascent ahead of us. Go to your assigned rooms. Strip yourselves of any heavy, non essential gear, excess gold, or mundane items that are not explicitly required for mountain survival or combat. Every single ounce of unnecessary weight you carry will feel like a boulder by the time we reach the fourth thousandth step. Leave your burdens in the rooms."
The team immediately dispersed down the narrow wooden hallway, their armor clattering as they moved to secure their lodgings and lighten their loads.
Aerion did not need to visit a room. His digital inventory entirely negated the physical laws of encumbrance. He merely adjusted his dark robes, ensuring the Black Prism was resting securely at his hip, and walked out the heavy wooden front doors of the Vilemyr Inn.
He stood on the wooden porch, the cool, misty air of Ivarstead washing over him. Lupin the fox trotted out a moment later, sitting faithfully at the High Elf's boots, his red tail wrapping securely around his paws to ward off the morning chill.
Ten minutes later, the heavy wooden doors swung open again.
The strike team emerged, looking visibly leaner and vastly more prepared for the grueling trek. Aeloria had left her heavy steel gauntlets and unnecessary camping gear behind, opting for thick leather gloves to maintain a secure grip on her battleaxe.
Jenassa had stripped her heavy mercenary pack, carrying only her bow, quivers, and daggers. Lydia and Valdemar, fulfilling their roles as the expedition's backbone, wore the two massive, heavy leather backpacks filled entirely with the purchased winter survival supplies, thick climbing ropes, and preserved rations.
"We are stripped and ready, Thane Aerion," Valdemar reported, adjusting the heavy straps of the supply pack across his broad steel shoulders.
Aerion looked over his team. They were a formidable, highly mobile unit.
"Then let us begin the pilgrimage," Aerion commanded softly.
He stepped off the wooden porch, leading the group northward through the quiet, misty village. They walked past the churning water wheel of the local lumber mill, the smell of fresh-cut pine hanging heavily in the air.
As they reached the absolute northern edge of the settlement, the path transitioned from packed dirt to ancient, weathered stone. Spanning the rushing, freezing waters of the mountain river was a sturdy, beautifully arched stone bridge.
Standing on the bridge, staring up at the impossibly high, cloud covered peak of the Throat of the World, the sheer, crushing existential weight of their undertaking finally settled completely over the group.
They crossed the stone bridge in absolute silence.
As their boots struck the solid bedrock on the far side of the river, the path instantly, aggressively sloped upward. The dirt trail seamlessly merged into a wide, sweeping staircase carved directly out of the living granite of the mountain.
They had reached the foot of the mountain. The Seven Thousand Steps were finally visible, stretching endlessly upward, disappearing into the thick canopy of ancient pine trees and freezing mist.
"By the Eight," Aeloria murmured, craning her neck backward, trying to see the top. "That is... a lot of stairs."
"Pace yourselves," Aerion advised, as he positioned himself in front of the formation. "Do not sprint. Breathe deeply, and find a steady, unbreakable rhythm."
And so, the brutal, legendary climb began.
The starting elevation of the pilgrimage was deceptive. The first thousand steps were relatively manageable, winding through the lush, dense, autumnal forests of the lower mountain. The air was crisp, but not freezing. The golden and orange leaves of the birch trees drifted lazily across the ancient stone stairs, providing a beautiful, almost peaceful atmosphere.
They encountered the first of the etched stone tablets, the emblems of Jurgen Windcaller, resting silently by the side of the path, offering ancient wisdom to the pilgrims. Aerion read them in passing, but he did not stop to meditate. The objective was the peak.
However, as they pushed past the second thousandth step, the forgiving geography of the mountain began to drastically shift.
The path initiated a brutal, relentless spiral climb, wrapping tightly around the steep, sheer cliffs of the mountain face. The ancient stairs became uneven, cracked by centuries of ice and shifting tectonic pressure. The lush, golden birch trees rapidly thinned out, completely replaced by towering, dark, jagged pine trees that clung desperately to the rocky slopes.
The temperature began to plummet significantly.
Aeloria's breathing grew heavy and rhythmic, the massive physical exertion of hauling thirty pounds of heavy Steel Plate armor up a near vertical incline beginning to tax her immense Nordic stamina. Sweat beaded on her forehead beneath her horned helmet, freezing almost instantly in the biting wind.
Lydia and Valdemar, bearing the massive supply packs, marched with absolute, grim determination, their faces set in masks of strict military discipline. Jenassa, possessing the lightweight, effortless endurance of an assassin, scaled the steps with the weightless grace of a mountain cat, barely breaking a sweat.
Aerion, walking at the absolute front, was entirely unbothered. His recently integrated Stamina attribute had fundamentally rewritten his biological limitations. He scaled the massive stone stairs as easily as if he were taking a leisurely stroll through the Whiterun markets, his breathing perfectly even, his dark robes entirely untouched by sweat.
As they crossed the four thousandth step, the environment completely surrendered to the harsh, unforgiving brutality of the Skyrim winter.
The dark green pine needles were entirely swallowed by thick, blinding white snowdrifts. The ancient stone stairs were coated in treacherous, slick layers of black ice. The ambient mist transitioned into a howling, violent, freezing blizzard that severely limited their visibility to a mere thirty feet ahead.
The altitude was staggering. The air grew dangerously thin, forcing the heavily armored Nords to take deeper, vastly more agonizing breaths to supply oxygen to their burning muscles.
"Close the formation!" Aerion shouted, his melodic voice cutting through the howling wind. "Keep your eyes on the boots of the person in front of you! Do not stray from the path, or you will fall into the ravines!"
They pressed onward, heads bowed against the driving snow.
Suddenly, Lupin the fox, who had been struggling bravely through the deep snowdrifts near Aerion's boots, let out a sharp, frantic, high pitched bark of absolute terror. The familiar immediately abandoned the path, darting beneath a large, snow covered boulder for cover.
Aerion stopped instantly, his golden eyes narrowing as he scanned the blinding white blizzard ahead.
He didn't hear footsteps. He heard a sharp, localized hissing sound, like water being violently dropped onto a red hot iron forge, combined with the cracking of shifting ice.
"Ambush!" Aerion roared, raising his hands. "Ice Wraiths in the snow!"
Emerging silently from the swirling white blizzard, blending perfectly into the freezing environment, were three Ice Wraiths.
They were terrifying, ethereal entities of localized elemental magic. They possessed no physical bodies, merely long, serpentine forms constructed entirely of jagged, floating, translucent ice shards and freezing, absolute zero vapor.
They hovered three feet off the snow, their glowing blue eyes locking onto the thermal heat signatures of the heavily armored strike team.
"Hold the line!" Valdemar shouted, immediately un slinging his heavy steel shield and drawing his broadsword. Lydia mirrored his movement instantly, stepping forward to form a tight, overlapping wall of steel across the narrow stone steps.
The Ice Wraiths shrieked, a high, piercing sound of grinding glaciers, and darted forward with terrifying, serpentine speed.
One of the wraiths lunged directly at Valdemar, attempting to wrap its freezing, vaporous body around the Housecarl to drain his body heat.
But the strike team was vastly over leveled for basic elemental wildlife.
"Burn them!" Aerion commanded.
Aerion didn't bother engaging his massive, apocalyptic spells. He simply snapped his fingers, casting a rapid, dual-wielded burst of Firebolt.
Twin spheres of concentrated, superheated plasma streaked through the blizzard. They slammed directly into the center mass of the two leading Ice Wraiths. The biological reaction was instantaneous and completely catastrophic. The entities of absolute zero could not withstand the hyper condensed thermal shock of a master mage.
The two wraiths let out a horrific, hissing shriek as their icy forms violently, explosively sublimated. They melted into boiling water and harmless steam before they even reached the shield wall, their glowing blue eyes entirely extinguished.
The third Ice Wraith, seeing its kin vaporized, banked sharply through the air, attempting to flank the formation by diving over the cliff edge.
THWIP.
Jenassa was already tracking it. She use fire enchanted arrow, and she simply fired it easily, as her steel arrow fly with flawless, surgical precision.
The heavy metal projectile tore through the blizzard, striking the Ice Wraith directly in its glowing core. The kinetic force shattered the central ice crystal holding the elemental together, reducing it to a shower of harmless, mundane snowflakes that drifted down into the ravine.
The skirmish had lasted less than five seconds.
"Perimeter clear," Jenassa announced, smoothly nocking another arrow and lowering her bow.
"A minor inconvenience," Aerion noted dismissively, lowering his hands. He looked back at the heavily panting Nords. "Maintain your focus. The beasts of this mountain use the blizzard to mask their approach. Keep moving."
They resumed the grueling climb, their boots crunching heavily through the deep, fresh snow.
They scaled another five hundred steps, the path winding through a massive, narrow, steep ravine carved directly between two towering peaks of sheer gray granite. The stone walls of the ravine blocked the worst of the howling wind, creating a slightly calmer, yet terrifyingly claustrophobic corridor of deep, undisturbed snow.
As they marched into the center of the narrow pass, a deep, heavy, wet sound echoed from the high ledges above them.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was the unmistakable, terrifying sound of massive, heavy fists violently pounding against solid stone.
Aerion stopped dead in his tracks. His transmigrator mind instantly, flawlessly recognized the specific, highly aggressive audio cue of the deadliest non magical predators in Skyrim.
"Shields up! Look up!" Aerion roared, his voice filled with genuine, urgent tactical command.
Dropping violently from the high, snow covered ledges directly above the narrow stone path were three massive, horrific beasts.
Frost Trolls.
They were absolute nightmares of brute biological strength and territorial aggression. They stood over eight feet tall, their massive, heavily muscled bodies completely covered in thick, shaggy, blinding white fur that perfectly camouflaged them in the snow.
Their long, disproportionately massive arms ended in huge, three fingered claws the size of iron daggers. Their terrifying, three eyed faces contorted into masks of pure, primal fury.
The impact of their landing violently shook the stone stairs.
They completely blocked the narrow pass ahead, their massive chests heaving as they let out deafening, guttural, terrifying roars that echoed off the ravine walls.
"By the blood of Ysmir!" Valdemar cursed, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated shock. One Frost Troll was a lethal threat to an entire squad of guards. Three acting in a coordinated ambush was a death sentence.
"Do not break formation!" Aeloria bellowed, her Dragonborn instincts instantly overriding her physical exhaustion.
Aeloria pushed past the two Housecarls, stepping directly to the absolute front of the vanguard. She gripped the heavy leather haft of the Axe of Morthal with both hands. The red runes etched into the steel flared to life, casting a brilliant, shimmering wave of intense heat into the freezing ravine.
"Valdemar! Lydia! Flank me!" Aeloria commanded, her voice ringing with the authority of a Thane. "Lock your shields and brace for impact! Do not let them bypass the frontline!"
The two Housecarls instantly obeyed. They stepped up on either side of the towering Dragonborn, interlocking the edges of their heavy steel shields, completely plugging the narrow, ten foot wide gap of the stone path.
"Patron, we need heavy artillery to stop their regeneration!" Jenassa yelled over the roaring of the beasts, rapidly drawing her bowstring back.
"You shall have it!" Aerion replied coldly, his golden eyes locking onto the massive, charging apes.
He didn't bother with precision spells. This required absolute, overwhelming fire suppression. The three massive Frost Trolls dropped onto all fours, using their heavily muscled knuckles to propel themselves forward with terrifying, lumbering speed, charging directly down the stone stairs toward the heavy steel shield wall.
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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