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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The courtyard was bustling with unusual activity despite the freezing weather. Standing near the central statue of Shalidor was Tolfdir, the elderly, absent minded master of Alteration magic. Gathered around him, shivering in their standard College robes and clutching staves, were the three newest apprentices, Brelyna Maryon, the nervous Dark Elf. Onmund, the skeptical Nord. And J'zargo, the supremely arrogant Khajiit.
"It has proven to be incredibly useful, Master Tolfdir," Aerion replied, offering a deep, respectful bow to his elder. "I have learned much."
Tolfdir let out a warm, reedy laugh, gesturing to the heavy ebony greatsword strapped to Aerion's back. "Well, I certainly expect it has been useful! Though I must admit, when I suggested you broaden your practical applications, I didn't quite anticipate you suddenly turning into a heavily armored gladiator! Are you planning to forsake the arcane arts for the swing of a sword?"
Aerion laughed, a rich, cultured sound that completely belied his brutal appearance. "Never, Master Tolfdir. A true scholar utilizes every tool at his disposal. Speaking of which, where are you taking the apprentices this late in the day?"
Tolfdir adjusted the heavy fur collar of his robes, his eyes lighting up with academic excitement.
"We are embarking on an excursion!" Tolfdir announced proudly. "These young apprentices have requested a practical class, outside the confines of the lecture halls. So, I have prepared a field trip. We are heading to Saarthal."
The name struck Aerion's transmigrator mind like a bolt of lightning.
Saarthal.
The ancient capital of the first men in Skyrim. The massive, buried crypt that held the single most dangerous, apocalyptic artifact currently resting on Nirn.
The Eye of Magnus.
Aerion's mind raced through the branching, inevitable timeline of the game. He knew exactly what was about to happen. If he let them walk out of this courtyard alone, one of these bumbling apprentices, or Tolfdir himself, would inevitably stumble upon the secret entrance.
They would find the Eye. They would excavate it. They would drag it back to the College, completely exposing its existence to Ancano and the Thalmor, triggering a catastrophic chain of events that would nearly destroy Winterhold and hand a weapon of mass destruction to the Aldmeri Dominion.
'I cannot let that happen,' Aerion calculated with terrifying, cold precision. 'I must secure the Eye of Magnus, and the Staff, entirely for myself. I must be the one to find it. And when I do, I will use every ounce of my maximized Persuasion to convince Tolfdir that the artifact is too dangerous to unearth. I will keep it buried in the ice, completely hidden from Ancano's spies, until I am ready to claim it.'
Aerion quickly adjusted his expression, ensuring none of his internal machinations bled through his aristocratic features. He looked at Tolfdir with a look of profound, scholarly curiosity.
"Saarthal is a fascinating ruin," Tolfdir continued, oblivious to the high stakes calculations happening in front of him. "It is generally a safe place for a preliminary excavation, but it still provides enough mild danger from old traps and lingering draugr to serve as a highly useful, practical learning experience for the novices."
"A brilliant pedagogical strategy, Master Tolfdir," Aerion praised him smoothly. He then took a deliberate step forward. "However, if you are venturing into ancient Nordic crypts, why don't I accompany you? I would very much like to see the ancient capital of the first men with my own eyes. Furthermore, my newly acquired martial skills might prove useful if the draugr are more restless than anticipated."
Tolfdir's face lit up with genuine delight at the offer.
"Oh! Of course you may come, Aerion!" Tolfdir agreed immediately, clapping his hands together. "It would actually make my job significantly easier to have someone with your high level of practical experience join our little expedition. I must say, even though your official rank on the roster is an Adept... I can feel the sheer density of your magicka from here. I suspect your true capabilities have grown far beyond that title."
Aerion offered a modest, enigmatic smile, neither confirming nor denying the assessment of his overwhelming power. "I merely seek to learn, Master Tolfdir."
"Excellent! Then it is settled!" Tolfdir cheered, turning to the shivering apprentices. "Gather your packs, students! We head for Saarthal!"
Aerion secured the mask of Krosis back over his face, the bronze snapping into place with a definitive click.
As the group moved toward the courtyard gates, they passed Faralda once more. The gatekeeper watched the unusual procession, the elderly master, the three nervous novices, and the towering, masked warrior, with a mix of amusement and concern.
"Be careful on the ice, Tolfdir," Faralda warned. "And keep an eye on them, Aerion. The blizzards are fierce today."
"I will ensure their safety, Faralda," Aerion promised, his metallic voice echoing in the wind.
As they crossed the bridge back to the mainland, the freezing wind tearing at their cloaks, Tolfdir informed them that the journey to Saarthal would be made on foot, as the treacherous ravines south of the city were too dangerous for horses in a blizzard.
"Proceed down the path, Master Tolfdir," Aerion requested as they reached the ruins of the city. "I must make a brief stop at the inn to collect my retainers. It is always wise to have a vanguard when exploring ancient crypts."
Tolfdir nodded agreeably, leading the apprentices down the snowy trail.
Aerion broke off from the group, marching directly toward the Frozen Hearth. He pushed open the heavy wooden doors, stepping into the dim, smoky warmth of the tavern.
Lydia and Jenassa were sitting at a table near the roaring fire pit, nursing cups of hot mead. They looked up immediately as he entered.
"Did you secure the rooms?" Aerion asked, approaching the table.
"We did, Patron," Jenassa confirmed, gesturing to a pair of iron keys resting on the wood. "Paid for a several days."
"Excellent. Leave your packs in the rooms, but keep your weapons," Aerion ordered, his tone shifting into the crisp, absolute authority of a field commander. "The intelligence gathering will have to wait. We are mobilizing immediately."
Lydia stood up, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her sword. "Where are we going, my Thane?"
Aerion looked back toward the door, his golden eyes burning with a fierce, ambitious light beneath the bronze mask.
"We are going into an ancient Nord crypt," Aerion answered softly. "Follow me."
Jenassa and Lydia did not hesitate. At Aerion's command, they abandoned the comforting, smoky warmth of the Frozen Hearth's fire pit, scooped up their travel packs, and followed him back out into the biting, unforgiving teeth of the northern blizzard.
They marched quickly through the ruined streets of Winterhold, the heavy snow crunching loudly beneath their boots, until they caught up with Tolfdir and the three shivering apprentices at the edge of the city.
"Ah, excellent! The rest has arrived," Tolfdir called out cheerfully over the howling wind, pulling his thick fur cloak tighter around his frail shoulders. He looked at Lydia and Jenassa with a welcoming nod before turning his watery eyes toward the vast, white expanse of the tundra. "Keep close, everyone! The visibility is poor, and the cold is our first true enemy today."
As a veteran mage, Tolfdir seamlessly demonstrated the fundamental survival tactics of the northern scholars. He held his hands out, palms facing upward, and conjured two steady, hovering spheres of concentrated Flames.
The thermal energy did not violently combust, instead, it radiated a steady, ambient heat that pushed back the freezing wind, creating a small, comfortable pocket of warm air around the elderly master.
Aerion mirrored the technique effortlessly, generating a subtle, continuous wave of ambient thermal magicka that enveloped Lydia and Jenassa, sparing his retainers the worst of the cold temperatures.
The apprentices, eager to practice, followed suit. J'zargo and Brelyna managed to conjure steady flames to warm their hands, while Onmund, the Nord, stubbornly relied on his thick furs and natural resistance to the frost, crossing his arms and trudging forward into the whiteout.
The journey south from Winterhold was treacherous. The narrow, winding paths carved into the glaciers were slick with black ice and heavily obscured by the driving snow. They had been marching for nearly an hour, the howling wind masking all other sounds, when the environment violently turned against them.
From the high, rocky ridges flanking the path, a chorus of deep, guttural snarls erupted.
A pack of eight massive ice wolves poured down the snowy embankments. These were not the common, scrawny timber wolves of the southern plains, they were gargantuan, heavily muscled beasts with thick, frost rimed white fur and pale, glowing blue eyes, driven to a murderous frenzy by the harsh winter famine.
"Ambush! Form up!" Aerion commanded, his voice carrying a metallic, absolute authority through the bronze mask of Krosis.
The apprentices panicked. Brelyna shrieked, stumbling backward in the deep snow, while J'zargo wildly began charging a spark spell, his tail thrashing in alarm.
"Do not break formation!" Aerion ordered, stepping forward. He turned his head to his retainers. "Lydia, Jenassa! Form a defensive perimeter. Hold the line, but do not kill them all! Leave the flanks to the students!"
Lydia instantly understood the tactical objective. This was not just a fight, it was a live fire training exercise for the College novices. She charged forward, bringing her heavy iron shield up with a resounding crash, catching the leading ice wolf squarely in the jaw.
The beast yelped, thrown backward into the snow, but Lydia did not follow up with a lethal sword strike. She simply held her ground, acting as an immovable, armored wall.
Jenassa moved like a shadow through the flurry, drawing her sword and dagger. She slashed the hamstrings of a wolf attempting to flank them, crippling its mobility and kicking it toward the center of the path without delivering a killing blow.
"Now, apprentices! Focus your fire!" Tolfdir shouted, his own hands flaring with a defensive ward. "Target the crippled ones! Remember your focal points!"
Onmund was the first to react. The young Nord thrust his hands forward, unleashing a stream of Frostbite. The freezing wind washed over the ice wolf, but the beast, born of the glaciers, simply shook off the attack and snarled, completely unharmed.
"They are born of the ice, Onmund! Do not feed them their own element!" Aerion barked, acting as the strict combat instructor. "Use your fire spells! Fire!"
Realizing his mistake, Onmund cursed and swapped his attunement. He hurled a small, concentrated Firebolt that struck the wolf in the flank. The beast howled in agony as its frost rimed fur violently ignited.
"J'zargo is ready!" the Khajiit roared, unleashing a continuous, crackling stream of high voltage Sparks that caught two of the wolves in a devastating arc, their muscles spasming as the electricity arced through the damp snow.
Brelyna, overcoming her initial panic, finally stepped out from behind Tolfdir. She aimed her hands and unleashed a perfectly timed jet of Flames, incinerating the wolf that Lydia had just bashed backward.
Under Aerion and Tolfdir's coordinated command, the chaotic ambush was rapidly dismantled. The heavy vanguard kept the lethal jaws at bay, allowing the apprentices to systematically pick off the pack using their basic destruction spells. The smell of ozone and burning fur hung heavily in the freezing air.
Within minutes, the eight massive wolves lay dead in the snow.
Brelyna fell to her knees, panting heavily, while J'zargo puffed out his chest, looking immensely proud of his electrical output.
"Well done, students. Excellent composure under pressure," Tolfdir praised them, though he cast an incredibly appreciative glance toward the masked High Elf who had so flawlessly orchestrated the defensive line.
"Check your boots, recover your breath, and keep moving," Aerion instructed coldly, returning the heavy ebony greatsword to his back. "The blood will only attract more predators."
They resumed their march, the brief skirmish having injected a healthy dose of adrenaline and focus into the apprentices.
Shortly after the wolf attack, the narrow mountain pass suddenly opened up, revealing a massive, plunging gorge carved directly into the heart of the glacier.
They had arrived at the outskirts of Saarthal.
It was a breathtaking, imposing sight. The excavation site was vastly larger than anything Aerion remembered from the digital world of his past life. It was a gargantuan, terraced crater dug deep into the permafrost, supported by massive wooden scaffoldings and heavy iron pulleys.
At the very bottom of the excavation, partially obscured by the swirling snow, lay the towering, monolithic black stone structures of the ancient Nordic ruins.
Lydia and Jenassa stepped up to the edge of the ridge, looking down into the abyss with profound, silent awe. The sheer architectural scale of the buried city was staggering.
Tolfdir walked to the edge, his eyes shining with academic reverence.
"Behold, students," Tolfdir announced, his voice echoing over the wind. "Saarthal. The very first city of men in Skyrim. Built by Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions in the Merethic Era. It is a place of profound tragedy, the site of the Night of Tears, where the Snow Elves slaughtered the original human settlers. But beneath that tragedy lies an absolute treasure trove of ancient magical and architectural history."
He began to lead the group down the winding, heavily fortified wooden ramps that spiraled into the massive icy crater.
As they descended deeper into the gorge, the wind died down, but the ambient temperature plummeted. By the time they reached the bottom of the excavation, standing before the massive, iron banded wooden doors that marked the entrance to the crypts, the apprentices were shivering violently and beginning to complain.
"It's freezing down here," Onmund grumbled, rubbing his arms. "And it smells like wet dust and dead draugr. Can we just get inside and get this over with?"
"Yeah, J'zargo's paws are going numb," the Khajiit whined impatiently. "Let us find the magical trinkets and go back to the fire."
Tolfdir stopped before the heavy doors, raising a hand and attempting to adopt a stern, professorial tone.
"Patience, apprentices," Tolfdir chided gently. "Before we enter, I must remind you all to be exceptionally cautious. We are here to observe and to learn, yes, but you must keep your wits about you. The upper levels of Saarthal's entrance have been cleared and are considered safe by our excavation teams, but that does not mean the danger has entirely vanished. Ancient Nordic architecture is labyrinthine and notoriously full of deadly, mechanical surprises. Do not touch anything without my explicit permission."
Brelyna let out a long, highly exaggerated sigh. "Yes, Master Tolfdir, we know. Watch our step, don't touch the shiny rocks. Can we please just go inside now?"
The sheer arrogance and blatant disregard for the dangers of the old world irritated Aerion deeply.
Aerion stepped forward, the heavy steel plates of his armor clanking loudly, the sound echoing ominously against the sheer ice walls of the crater. He loomed over the three apprentices, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over them. He looked down through the jagged, soulless slits of the bronze mask.
"You will fall silent," Aerion commanded.
His voice wasn't raised, but it vibrated with a terrifying, absolute authority that hit the novices like a physical blow. The casual, complaining attitudes instantly vanished.
"You are not walking into a classroom, you are walking into a mass grave," Aerion lectured, his tone cold and unyielding. "You will follow Master Tolfdir's instructions to the absolute letter. If you act carelessly, if you wander off and trigger a pressure plate, or if you touch a sealed urn that costs you your lives... know this. I will not risk the lives of my retainers to pull your corpses from the rubble. If you invite death through your own arrogance, you will die in the dark. Do you understand me?"
The three apprentices stared at the terrifying, faceless warlord, their faces pale. The brutal, uncompromising reality of his threat completely shattered their academic complacency.
Brelyna swallowed hard, nodding frantically. J'zargo's ears flattened against his head as he offered a quick, submissive nod. Even Onmund, a proud Nord, stood rigidly at attention and muttered a respectful, "Yes, sir. We understand."
Tolfdir watched the exchange, thoroughly impressed by the instantaneous, disciplinary shift. The old master let out a soft, highly amused chuckle.
"By the Divines, Aerion," Tolfdir smiled, adjusting his robes. "You really ought to stay for a semester at the College. Having you around to help me keep the students in line would save me a tremendous amount of headaches."
Aerion chuckled softly, the metallic distortion softening slightly. "I am afraid my tuition fees would be rather exorbitant, Master Tolfdir. Lead the way."
With the apprentices properly terrified into compliance, Tolfdir turned and hauled the massive, heavy wooden doors open.
They stepped into the darkness of Saarthal.
The interior was vastly more expansive than the digital corridors Aerion remembered. The entrance hall alone was massive, a sprawling network of interconnected stone chambers supported by towering, intricately carved pillars depicting ancient animal totems.
The air was incredibly dry, smelling of pulverized rock, ancient embalming fluid, and the faint, ozone tang of lingering magicka. Magical torches burned with cold, blue flames along the walls, casting long, eerie shadows across the stone floors.
"Alright, students, spread out into the adjacent chambers," Tolfdir instructed, pointing toward a series of side rooms. "Begin cataloging the minor burial urns and translating the runic inscriptions on the perimeter walls. And remember, look, but do not touch."
As the apprentices nervously scurried off to begin their assignments, Tolfdir turned to the High Elf. "Aerion, if you would be so kind, Master Arniel Gane has been working in the northern wing for a few days now. He is currently spearheading the cataloging effort. Perhaps you and your retainers could offer him some assistance?"
"Of course, Master Tolfdir," Aerion agreed.
He signaled to Lydia and Jenassa, and the three of them navigated the winding, ancient stone corridors, heading deep into the northern wing of the ruins.
They found Arniel Gane in a wide, circular chamber, hunched over a makeshift wooden desk covered in dusty parchment, calipers, and fragments of ancient pottery. The Breton scholar looked exhausted, his hair disheveled and his eyes ringed with dark circles from too many hours spent studying in the dim magical light.
"Master Gane," Aerion announced his presence, his heavy boots thudding against the stone.
Arniel jumped, nearly knocking an inkwell off his desk. He spun around, his eyes going wide as he took in the terrifying, heavily armored figure standing in the doorway.
"By Julianos!" Arniel gasped, clutching a hand to his chest. He blinked a few times, finally recognizing the golden hair spilling from beneath the hood. "Aerion? Is that you under all that terrible steel?"
"It is, Master Arniel," Aerion confirmed. "Master Tolfdir has just arrived with the apprentices. He sent me ahead to offer you our assistance with the excavation."
Arniel let out a long, highly exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. "Assistance? Ha. The last thing I need is a bunch of bumbling novices kicking up dust and ruining my delicate cataloging work. I have a very precise system here, Aerion."
The Breton waved a dismissive hand toward a dark, narrow corridor leading deeper into the ruin.
"If you truly want to help," Arniel sighed, "I need someone to go down into that lower chamber and search for some missing magical artifacts. My notes indicate there should be several enchanted rings or amulets buried down there, but I haven't had the time to scour it myself. Just... be careful, Aerion. I know you are an experienced traveler, and a highly talented Adept, but this place is old, and it is entirely unpredictable. A misstep could bring the ceiling down on your head."
"I will exercise the utmost caution," Aerion promised, turning toward the corridor.
He led Lydia and Jenassa down the narrow, descending stone ramp. The air grew noticeably colder and staler as they ventured beyond the magically lit, cleared zones of the excavation.
They emerged into a small, circular antechamber.
It was perfectly preserved. The walls were lined with intricate, geometric Nordic carvings, completely free of the rubble that choked the upper levels. And sitting proudly on a pedestal directly opposite the entrance, resting against the back wall, was a piece of jewelry.
It was a masterfully crafted old yellow amulet.
"Beautiful stonework," Jenassa murmured, her sharp eyes scanning the geometric patterns on the walls. "It lacks the brutalist edge of modern Nord architecture. It is almost... elegant."
Lydia stepped into the room, her ebony shield raised slightly, her instincts on high alert. "Elegant, perhaps. But it feels wrong. Too pristine. Why hasn't a chamber this close to the entrance been looted centuries ago?"
Aerion stood at the threshold, his golden eyes locked on the amulet. He knew exactly why it was pristine. It was a trap, designed to secure the deepest secrets of the city.
"Do not move forward," Aerion instructed his retainers, ensuring they had both fully crossed the threshold and were standing entirely inside the circular room. "Stay near the walls."
With Lydia and Jenassa clear of the entrance, Aerion walked purposefully toward the back of the room. He didn't hesitate. He reached out and wrapped his steel clad fingers around the yellow old amulet, lifting it smoothly from the stone pedestal.
KA-THUNK.
The sound was deafening. It wasn't the slow, grinding scrape of old stone, it was the instantaneous, violent release of heavy, pressurized mechanics.
From the stone floor directly in front of the entrance corridor, a row of thick, rusted iron spear bolts shot upward with terrifying speed, slamming into the ceiling and locking into place. The iron bars formed an impenetrable, heavy cell door, completely sealing the three of them inside the circular chamber.
The loud, metallic crash echoed violently down the corridors of Saarthal like a thunderclap.
"Trap!" Lydia shouted, immediately spinning around and raising her shield, her eyes frantically searching the dark corners of the room for emerging draugr or poison darts.
Jenassa drew her ebony daggers, dropping into a low, lethal crouch, her crimson eyes sweeping the ceiling for falling rocks. "Patron! The exit is barred!"
"Stay calm," Aerion commanded, his voice a steady, grounding anchor amidst their sudden panic. "We are not in immediate danger. Hold your positions."
The loud crash of the iron gate had not gone unnoticed. Within moments, the sound of frantic, hurried footsteps echoed down the adjacent corridor.
Tolfdir rounded the corner first, his hands glowing with a protective ward, his face pale with concern. Arniel Gane was right behind him, panting heavily, followed closely by the three terrified apprentices who had abandoned their cataloging.
They skidded to a halt on the other side of the heavy iron spears, looking into the sealed chamber.
"Aerion! By the Divines, what happened here?" Tolfdir demanded, gripping the iron bars and peering through. "Are you injured? Did you trigger a pressure plate?"
Aerion walked back toward the barred entrance, holding up the old yellow amulet. "We are entirely unharmed, Master Tolfdir," Aerion reported calmly. "I removed this amulet from the wall pedestal, and the gateway instantaneously sealed behind us. It is possible a sophisticated weight sensitive containment mechanism."
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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 2), 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, 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, Staff of Fireball, Mage Boots Of Weight, & Master Robes Of Destruction
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: 92.41 KG / 670 KG
Septims: 81,082