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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Aerion stepped forward, approaching the map table. He moved with the smooth, unhurried grace of a predator, projecting absolute confidence. "I have, General," Aerion reported cleanly, without preamble. "Fort Greymoor has been entirely cleared of the bandit groups and the rogue wizards who lives there. The fortress is secure. Furthermore, as ordered, I delivered the keys personally to Jarl Balgruuf in Dragonsreach right after that."
Legate Rikke leaned forward, her blue eyes narrowing with intense interest. "And his response?"
"He accepted the gift from the Empire with genuine gratitude," Aerion answered smoothly. "However, he formally refused to alter his geopolitical stance. Whiterun remains, for the moment, strictly neutral."
General Tullius let out a long, heavy, incredibly tired sigh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in deep frustration.
"I expected no less," he muttered bitterly, looking down at the map. "Balgruuf is a stubborn old bear. He thinks he can sit on his hill and ignore the fire burning around him. He will only abandon his neutrality and ask the Empire for real help when Ulfric Stormcloak truly comes knocking at his door with a battering ram."
"I agree with your assessment of the Jarl's stubbornness, General," Aerion said calmly, stepping closer to the edge of the table. "But I do not believe it will be long before Jarl Balgruuf is violently forced off his fence."
The statement hung in the air.
Legate Rikke looked up, her tactical instincts instantly flaring. The other two Legates exchanged a sharp glance. General Tullius slowly lowered his hand, his eyes locking back onto the Tribune.
"Explain yourself, Tribune," he commanded, his voice deadly serious. "What do you mean it won't be long? Has Ulfric mobilized forces toward the Whiterun borders?"
"Not yet," Aerion answered, his golden eyes sweeping over the wooden markers on the map. He shifted his tone from a field reporter to a grand strategist. "But look at the current reality of the board, General. With the war in its current, static condition, and the undeniable return of the dragons terrorizing the province, Ulfric Stormcloak is being forced into a corner. He cannot afford to stay quiet for much longer."
Aerion pointed a long, elegant finger at the blue markers clustered around Windhelm and the Rift.
"At the moment, to the casual observer, it appears that both factions are locked in a brutal war of attrition," Aerion analyzed, his voice vibrating with absolute, flawless logic. "But the Stormcloaks are in a vastly more dangerous and fundamentally unsustainable position."
He looked directly at Tullius, addressing the veteran commander with deep, intellectual respect.
"Ulfric's rebellion relies entirely on the fervor of the local Nords," Aerion explained. "But Skyrim's population is finite. Every time we clash in the Pale or the Reach, every time a rebel dies, Ulfric loses an asset he struggles to replace. The Empire, conversely, has the logistical backing of a continent. Even with the Pale Pass temporarily blocked, you can constantly recruit, resupply, and reinforce your lines far more efficiently than a local rebellion ever could."
The two unknown Legates nodded slowly, silently agreeing with the grim mathematics of the analysis.
"Furthermore," Aerion continued, pressing his advantage, "the dragons are actively burning the farms and trade routes that Ulfric desperately relies on to feed his armies. The rebellion is bleeding resources. If he sits in Windhelm and waits, the Empire will simply starve him out. Therefore, he must force a decisive, catastrophic engagement to break the stalemate before his supply lines completely collapse. He has no choice but to act aggressively. And the only target that grants him total control of the province's central trade network is Whiterun."
Aerion placed his hands on the edge of the table, looking deeply into the General's eyes.
"The Empire is certainly struggling to maintain order in this chaos, General," Aerion acknowledged frankly. "But let us be honest. If the dragons had never returned... if the sky had remained clear... the Imperial Legion would have likely already crushed this rebellion and won the war by now."
Absolute silence descended upon the war room.
The military leaders did not immediately respond. They stared at the map, processing the profound, razor sharp strategic analysis the High Elf had just laid before them. It wasn't just a report, it was a high level, macro economic, and psychological breakdown of their enemy's desperate position.
Legate Rikke let out a slow, appreciative breath. She looked at Aerion, the respect in her eyes deepening significantly. "He is absolutely right, General. Ulfric is on a ticking clock. The dragons are hurting him far more than they are hurting us."
General Tullius stood perfectly still for a long moment. A slow, deeply pragmatic, highly dangerous smile began to form on his scarred face. He looked at the Tribune, recognizing that the Elf was not just a powerful mage, but a master tactician who saw the entire board.
"A flawless assessment, Tribune," General Tullius praised him, his rough voice carrying a new, profound level of inclusion. "You see the war exactly as it is. Ulfric is desperate. And desperate men make mistakes."
General Tullius leaned over the table, his eyes gleaming with renewed strategic vigor.
"If he intends to march on Whiterun, we must be ready to catch him when he falls," the General declared, the atmosphere in the room charging with electric tension. "And to do that, we need to ensure our own supply lines are unbreakable. Which brings me to your next assignment, Aerion."
Hearing the General's assessment of Ulfric's desperate logistical position, Aerion offered a crisp, perfectly composed nod. The supreme commander of the Imperial forces in Skyrim had recognized the strategic reality of the board, and more importantly, he had recognized Aerion's capacity to read it.
"I am ready for my next assignment, General," Aerion stated, his melodic voice completely steady in the quiet tension of the war room.
General Tullius did not immediately launch into orders. He stepped back from the map table, his veteran eyes assessing the High Elf with a newfound, pragmatic respect.
"Before we discuss the future, Tribune, I must acknowledge the scale of what you have already accomplished," General Tullius began, his rough voice carrying the heavy weight of command. "Securing Fort Greymoor and handing it over to Jarl Balgruuf was a masterstroke. It was not an easy task, and it is one that would not have been possible through the simple application of brute, uniformed force."
General Tullius crossed his arms over his heavy breastplate, leaning back slightly.
"I am a practical man, Aerion, and I know exactly how these things work," the General continued, his tone turning highly pragmatic. "You did not clear that fortress with words. It required meticulous planning, immense effort, and, crucially, a significant amount of coin. You utilized your own private assets and hired mercenaries to execute an Imperial objective without risking a single Legionnaire."
He offered a grim, apologetic smile. "The Empire appreciates the initiative, but you must understand that the Legion's coffers in this province are currently bleeding dry to maintain our supply lines. I cannot reimburse you for the mercenary contracts or the expenses you incurred. I can only hope that the bandit loot and the bounties you secured from Greymoor's vaults were enough to cover what you spent."
Aerion smiled faintly, a gesture of aristocratic grace that completely waved away the General's financial concerns.
"You need not worry about my ledger, General," Aerion assured him smoothly. "The spoils recovered from the fortress were vastly more than enough to compensate my men and cover all operational costs. The Empire owes me no coin for this victory."
"Good," General Tullius nodded, visibly relieved to avoid a logistical headache. He stepped back up to the map table, his expression hardening back into the cold mask of a military governor. "Then let us discuss your role going forward. It is twofold."
The General pointed a thick, leather clad finger directly at the center of the parchment map, tapping the symbol for Whiterun.
"The first part of your assignment is a continuation of our diplomatic efforts," Tullius explained. "Persuading Jarl Balgruuf to formally commit his banners to the Empire remains a high priority, but it is no longer the immediate crisis. What is vastly more critical right now is ensuring that Imperial influence remains the dominant force within his court."
General Tullius looked up, locking eyes with Aerion.
"I need you to be my eyes and ears inside Dragonsreach," the General ordered, his voice dropping to a low, serious register. "Watch the Jarl's councilors. Watch his guards. Watch his servants. I want you actively hunting for any trace of Stormcloak influence attempting to take root in that keep. That includes political pressure, quiet persuasion from sympathetic nobles, or vastly more dangerous threats."
The General's eyes darkened with the grim reality of civil war.
"Ulfric is desperate, as you pointed out," he warned. "If he cannot win Balgruuf over with words, he may resort to coercion. I want you watching for assassination attempts, or plots to kidnap the Jarl's children to force his hand. Remember this, Tribune, an enemy marching outside your walls can be seen and fought, but an enemy hiding inside your own house is infinitely harder to defend against. Whiterun is vulnerable from within. Keep Balgruuf breathing, and keep his court clean."
"The Jarl will remain entirely secure," Aerion promised, his tone absolute. "No rebel dagger will find its way into Dragonsreach while I hold the Jarl's favor."
"See that it doesn't," General Tullius grunted. He then moved his hand across the map, tracing a wide, sweeping arc over the northern and eastern territories.
"The second part of your task is significantly broader, and vastly more dangerous," General Tullius continued, the tactical gravity in the room deepening. He tapped the markers for Winterhold, Dawnstar, Riften, and finally, the rebel capital of Windhelm. "I need fresh, reliable intelligence from the Stormcloak held territories."
Legate Rikke stepped in, her scarred face tight with frustration.
"Our current intelligence network in the east is struggling, Tribune," Legate Rikke admitted bluntly. "The Penitus Oculatus agents and the local Imperial sympathizers are being hunted like dogs by Ulfric's secret scouts and spies. To survive, our spies have been forced to adopt an incredibly low profile, which means information is moving at a glacial pace. By the time we hear about a Stormcloak troop movement, the battle has already happened."
General Tullius nodded in agreement. "You, however, are a unique asset. Despite the high rank you gotten, you are still relatively unknown to the Stormcloak high command. You do not wear standard Legion armor, and you travel under the guise of an eccentric, wealthy scholar. You are in a position to move openly through these cities, gather impressions, assess their supply lines, and extract intelligence far faster than my embedded spies ever could."
The General paused, letting the silence stretch for a moment before delivering the caveat.
"But do not mistake this for a simple scouting mission, Aerion," he warned, his voice grave. "You are a High Elf. In the heartlands of the rebellion, where anti elven sentiment is the very fuel of Ulfric's war machine, your physical appearance alone will draw intense suspicion. In places like Windhelm or Riften, you may face open, violent hostility in the streets before you even ask a single question. You must tread incredibly carefully. Gather the intelligence, but do not get yourself killed for it."
Aerion listened to the briefing with rapt attention, his transmigrator mind instantly cataloging the political and geographical challenges. He fully understood both the immense usefulness of the mission and the inherent, racial danger of walking into Windhelm as an Altmer.
He didn't flinch. A slow, supremely confident smile touched his lips.
"I accept the task without hesitation, General," Aerion replied, his voice a smooth, calming current against the military tension. "I will require some time to properly assess all four holds and map their logistical vulnerabilities, but I will do my utmost to bring back actionable, high value intelligence. And I will ensure that Jarl Balgruuf remains completely insulated from rebel influence."
General Tullius studied the High Elf's unwavering composure and offered a slow, deeply approving nod.
"That is exactly what I wanted to hear, Tribune," General Tullius said, the heavy lines of stress on his face easing slightly. He leaned forward, lowering his voice to deliver a quiet, potent incentive. "If you continue to perform with this level of excellence... if you secure the intelligence we need and keep Whiterun stabilized... you will find that the Empire rewards its most effective instruments. Combined with the bloodless capture of Fort Greymoor, successful execution of this mandate will put you directly in line for a promotion to Praefect."
Tullius straightened up, looking at the map with a heavy heart. "This kind of work brings real, undeniable merit, Aerion. The Legion is desperate for forward momentum. Ever since Helgen was reduced to ash and that damned dragon provided Ulfric his escape... we have been playing defense. Bring me the keys to the east, and I will give you your command."
The promise of the Praefect rank, the territorial authority he truly desired, was laid out clearly on the table.
Aerion took the General's words with the utmost seriousness. He stepped back, bringing his fist across his chest in a crisp, final salute.
"You shall have your momentum, General," Aerion swore. He turned slightly, offering the same flawless salute to Legate Rikke. "Legate."
As he prepared to turn and walk out of the war room, Aerion paused, a final logistical detail coming to mind. He looked back at Legate Rikke.
"Before I depart, Legate, there is a matter of military protocol I must clarify," Aerion requested politely. "Since my commissioned rank is technically that of a Tribune, standard Legion doctrine dictates that I should have my own dedicated squad of soldiers to command in the field. Is that correct?"
Legate Rikke cleared her throat, shifting her weight slightly.
"It is correct, Tribune," she confirmed, exchanging a brief glance with Tullius. "However, because of the highly irregular, accelerated nature of your field commission, your specific unit has not yet been fully organized or pulled from the standard infantry rotation."
She walked over to a stack of ledgers on a side table, flipping one open rapidly.
"But since you have formally requested it, I will not send a Tribune into the field without a banner," Legate Rikke decided, her tone brisk and efficient. "I will issue the mustering orders tonight. I can assign sixty able bodied Legionnaires to your direct command, supplemented by three seasoned Quaestors to act as your sub commanders and handle the daily infantry logistics."
Legate Rikke looked up, offering an apologetic but firm look. "I must be clear, Aerion. That is the absolute best we can do for you at this current moment. Every other available cohort is actively holding the borders."
Aerion accepted the numbers without a single word of complaint. Sixty heavy infantrymen, led by three veteran officers, was more than enough to establish a localized, highly effective military presence.
"That is vastly more than enough, Legate," Aerion assured her with a polite bow of his head. "I fully understand that my position is highly unusual, and I appreciate the allocation of resources. I only ask that, when the men are fully mustered, they be stationed in a forward camp near the Whiterun borders, so that I may interface with them more easily during my operations."
"That makes perfect tactical sense," Legate Rikke agreed, jotting a quick note into her ledger. "I will have them establish a staging ground near the western tundra. The Quaestors will await your orders there."
"My thanks. May the Divines guide your strategies," Aerion offered his final farewell.
He turned on his heel, his dark robes sweeping the stone floor, and led Jenassa and Lydia out of the war room. They navigated the bustling, torch lit corridors of Castle Dour and stepped back out into the freezing, misty evening air of Solitude.
The heavy political maneuvering was concluded. Now, they required basic human rest.
Aerion led his two retainers down the main avenue, the cobblestones slick with a light, freezing drizzle. They pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Winking Skeever, instantly enveloped by the warm, boisterous atmosphere, the smell of roasting meat, and the sound of a bard tuning a lute in the corner.
Corpulus Vinius was manning the counter, his broad face breaking into a welcoming smile as the towering High Elf approached.
"Welcome back to the Skeever, traveler!" Corpulus greeted him cheerfully. "What can I do for you on this fine, freezing evening?"
"Three of your best private rooms for the night, Corpulus," Aerion requested smoothly. "And a hot, substantial dinner for myself and my companions. We have had a long day on the road."
Aerion accessed his inventory, withdrawing a small stack of 65 septims and placing it on the polished wood.
Corpulus swept the coins into his apron with practiced ease, sliding three heavy iron keys across the bar. "Rooms are upstairs, end of the hall. Grab a table by the fire, and I'll have the kitchens bring out three plates of roasted pheasant and spiced wine immediately!"
They claimed a table near the roaring hearth. The dinner was excellent, the hot food and rich wine cutting through the bone-deep chill of the northern capital. There was no talk of dragons, politics, or war. They ate in companionable silence, allowing the sheer physical and mental exhaustion of the day's work to finally settle. Shortly after the meal, they retired to their respective rooms, falling into deep, restorative sleep.
The next morning, the capital was still shrouded in a thick, gray coastal fog.
Aerion walked down the wooden stairs, leaving the three heavy iron keys on the counter. The trio stepped out into the damp morning air, walking briskly down the winding stone ramp that led out of the city.
At the Solitude Stables, Geimund had their horses rested, brushed, and saddled. Aerion mounted Revan, checking the heavy leather straps before flicking the reins.
They rode out, taking the same long, winding cobblestone road they had used to arrive. They bypassed the ancient stone arches of Dragon Bridge, pushing their mounts into a steady, ground eating canter as they navigated the craggy, pine choked ravines of Haafingar and descended toward the open plains.
The rhythmic sound of hooves provided a steady backdrop for the journey. As they crossed the borders into the rolling, golden expanse of the Whiterun tundra, Jenassa guided her bay horse closer to Aerion's flank.
The Morag Tong assassin pulled her dark hood back, her crimson eyes curious as she looked at the High Elf.
"Patron," Jenassa began, her voice carrying easily over the wind. "If I may ask... what exactly do you intend to do with three score heavy Imperial footmen? You are a master of the arcane. Aeloria is the Dragonborn. You and I alone can clear a small to medium sized bandit camp in minutes if we done it right. A squad of sixty loud armored soldiers seems entirely contrary to your usual methods."
Aerion did not look offended by the tactical inquiry. He slowed Revan to a more comfortable trot, allowing the horses to breathe as he answered her.
"You are thinking of them as a blunt instrument, Jenassa, when they are meant to be a scalpel," Aerion explained, his voice taking on the analytical cadence of a military instructor. "I do not intend to march those sixty men into the open field to engage in pitched, shield wall battles against the Stormcloak main army. That would be a waste of resources."
He looked out over the vast, open plains, gesturing toward the distant, ruined stone forts that dotted the landscape.
"I plan to use them for preemptive, surgical guerrilla strikes," Aerion revealed, his tactical vision expanding. "We will use the squad to rapidly assault and take over the numerous ruined forts, watchtowers, and strategic choke points currently held by bandits or rogue mages across the central holds. We will clear the infestations, and immediately garrison the troops to hold the territory."
Jenassa's eyes narrowed as she grasped the larger strategic picture. "You intend to choke the region."
"Exactly," Aerion smiled, a cold, calculating expression. "By securing the minor fortifications, we silently expand Imperial power and logistical control over the trade routes without ever formally declaring a major offensive. We will squeeze the Stormcloak supply lines, pressuring them harder than General Tullius can with his main force. We will bleed Ulfric's momentum with a thousand tiny, heavily armored cuts."
Lydia, riding just behind them, nodded in deep, professional approval. It was a brilliant, highly effective application of limited manpower.
The tactical discussion fueled the remainder of the journey. They rode non stop through the afternoon, the sky shifting from pale gray to a brilliant, burning orange as the sun began to set behind the western mountains.
By late afternoon, the towering, familiar wooden palisades of the Aerion Estate finally rose from the golden grass.
The heavy gates were hauled open by the mercenary guards, and Aerion rode Revan into the torch lit courtyard. The estate was operating with pristine, military efficiency.
As Aerion dismounted and handed the warhorse's reins to a stable hand, Captain Sinmir marched across the dirt, his heavy armor clanking loudly.
"Patron, welcome back," Sinmir saluted crisply.
"Report, Captain," Aerion requested, dusting off his dark robes.
"The transport operation was a complete success," Sinmir stated proudly, gesturing toward the makeshift built storage sheds located near the sprawling mammoth pens. "The bones and scales from the blood dragon at Shearpoint were successfully recovered. The entire haul from both sites has been transported, cataloged, and secured under heavy protection. The wagons have been returned to the city, and the drivers were paid for their silence."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 710/710 Stamina: 740/740 Magicka: 950/950
Level: 200
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(+4)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 73/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/75), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 19), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 33), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 0), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii Gron (Fade Spirit Bind), Su (Air), Laas (Life), Yol Toor (Fire Inferno), Kaan (Kyne), & Zul Mey Gut (Voice Fool Far)
[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, 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, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Gold Emerald Circlet, Scroll of Fire Storm, Iron Garnet Circlet, Iron Sapphire Circlet, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, Dwarven Shield, Wuuthrad's Fragments, Krosis's Mask, Staff of Fireball, Nordic Carved Armor Of Health, Nordic Carved Gauntlets Of Splinter, & Nordic Carved Boots Of Weight
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: 113.21 KG / 670 KG
Septims: 81,082