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(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel a Dragon Age Inquisition novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
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"You walk in the lands of the true sons of the Reach, stranger!" a heavily tattooed Forsworn raider shouted, laughing cruelly as he drew a notched iron battleaxe. "Your armor will look beautiful on our pikes! We will offer your heart to the old gods!" Aerion stopped in the center of the road, looking up at the jeering zealots. He did not waste breath on a retort. He smoothly reached over his shoulder and drew his massive Ebony Bow. In one fluid, terrifyingly fast motion, he nocked an ebony arrow, drew the heavy bowstring back to his ear, and released.
Thwip.
The arrow crossed the distance in a fraction of a second, burying itself precisely between the eye sockets of the deer skull helmet. The sentry was dead before his body even began to fall off the palisade.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
Aerion moved with the mechanical, flawless precision of a master archer. Three more arrows flew in rapid succession. One buried itself in the throat of the laughing raider, the next two caught dual wielding warriors directly in the center of their bare chests. Four Forsworn dropped dead in less than three seconds.
The jeering stopped instantly, replaced by absolute, screaming fury.
"KILL HIM! TEAR HIM APART!"
War horns blew from the upper terraces. The entire encampment of Dead Crone Rock was instantly on high alert. The heavy wooden gates at the top of the stairs were thrown open, and a massive wave of two dozen Forsworn warriors, berserkers, and shamans poured out, screaming feral battle cries as they charged down the stone steps toward him.
Simultaneously, a volley of jagged bone arrows rained down from the archers positioned on the high cliffs.
Aerion dropped into a low, fluid roll, the arrows shattering harmlessly against the cobblestones where he had just been standing. He came up in a crouch, seamlessly sliding the Ebony Bow back into its harness on his back.
He didn't need arrows for a swarm. He needed catastrophe.
Aerion raised his hands. With his Destruction skills freshly reset and his core deeply tethered to the infinite reservoir of the Eye of Magnus, he did not hold back.
He unleashed a massive, dual casted Fire Storm.
A roaring, expanding shockwave of superheated plasma erupted from his position, washing entirely over the stone steps. The vanguard of the Forsworn charge, ten screaming men and women, were instantly caught in the inferno. Their fur and bone armor offered absolutely zero protection against magical fire of that magnitude. They were incinerated where they stood, their ashes blowing away in the concussive wind of the spell.
Without missing a beat, Aerion shifted his hands, targeting the archers on the cliffs. A jagged, blinding streak of Chain Lightning tore from his fingertips, striking the rock face and violently arcing through five archers in a terrifying web of electrical energy, sending their smoking bodies tumbling off the cliffs.
He had become a living, walking magical disaster. The absolute attention of every surviving Forsworn in the ruin was entirely, desperately fixated on the god of destruction standing in their courtyard.
Which was exactly what Aerion wanted.
"NOW!" Jenassa's voice rang out from the right ridge.
The two strike teams hit the distracted Forsworn flanks with devastating, perfect synchronization.
From the left, Lydia leaped over a low stone wall, her heavy shield bashing a Forsworn shaman completely off his feet before he could cast a ward. Eisa flowed right behind her, the Pale Blade humming with lethal frost. She spun, slicing cleanly through the hamstrings of two berserkers, leaving them screaming on the ground as Onmund and Brelyna stepped out of the shadows.
"Burn them!" Onmund shouted, unleashing a torrent of Flames into a tight cluster of tribal warriors, while Brelyna summoned a Frost Atronach directly into their path, completely blocking their retreat.
From the right, Jenassa was an absolute phantom. She dropped from a rocky overhang directly onto the shoulders of a heavy Forsworn warrior, driving two ebony daggers deep into his collarbones. J'zargo stepped out onto the ridge, a manic, booming cackle echoing from the Khajiit as he hurled massive, overcharged Fireballs into the wooden barricades, setting the defensive structures ablaze. Eirik provided flawless covering fire, using rapid Lightning Bolts to snipe any Forsworn attempting to charge the mages.
Caught completely by surprise in a vicious crossfire, and with their center utterly annihilated by Aerion, the Forsworn ranks shattered into chaotic, bloody pockets of desperate melee.
But the tribe of Dead Crone Rock was massive, and they were not finished.
From the heavy stone double doors leading into the deepest interior of the ruins, a terrifying, rhythmic thudding sound echoed over the screams of the dying. It sounded like the beating of a monstrous, oversized heart.
Four figures emerged from the shadows of the doorway.
They were stripped to the waist, their skin pale and stretched tight over bulging, unnatural muscles. Where their hearts should have been, massive, gaping cavities in their chests revealed glowing, pulsing red briar seeds grafted directly into their veins. They held long, jagged stone swords in each hand, their eyes completely devoid of humanity.
The Briarhearts.
They did not scream or roar. They moved with a terrifying, unnatural speed, closing the distance in absolute silence.
Two of the Briarhearts immediately sprinted directly toward Aerion, recognizing him as the greatest threat. The other two split off, one charging toward Lydia's team on the left, the other sprinting up the right ridge toward J'zargo.
"Briarhearts! Focus fire!" Aerion commanded, his voice magically amplified.
On the left flank, the Briarheart closed the distance to Team One in the blink of an eye. It completely ignored Lydia's shield bash, taking the heavy steel impact to the ribs without even flinching. The undead abomination spun, its twin blades a blinding blur of stone, slicing through the air toward Onmund's exposed neck.
Eisa Blackthorn was faster.
The bandit chief threw her body into the path of the blades, parrying the strike with the Pale Blade. The impact was massive, driving Eisa to one knee, a shallow, bloody gash opening across her left shoulder where a stone tip slipped past her guard. But she held the line, locking the Briarheart's weapons long enough for Brelyna to act.
The Dunmer apprentice shoved her hands forward, pressing her palms directly against the Briarheart's chest cavity.
Crack!
Brelyna unleashed a point blank Ice Spike directly into the pulsing red seed. The magical ice shattered the briar heart completely. The elite warrior instantly collapsed, instantly dead without its cursed anchor.
On the right ridge, Jenassa and J'zargo handled their Briarheart with lethal synergy. As the monster charged up the incline, Jenassa hurled a throwing knife directly into its eye. The Briarheart barely staggered, continuing its blind charge. But the momentary distraction was all J'zargo needed. The Khajiit unleashed a continuous, concentrated stream of Sparks, electrocuting the creature until the briar seed in its chest caught fire and burst into ash.
In the center courtyard, Aerion did not require his retainers' assistance.
As the two elite Briarhearts converged on him, swinging their twin blades in a synchronized, lethal dance designed to overwhelm any physical defense, Aerion simply raised his hands.
He did not step back. He met their charge with overwhelming, localized violence.
He dual casted Incinerate. Two concentrated beams of white hot plasma tore from his palms, striking the Briarhearts squarely in their exposed chests. The heat was so intense it bypassed their physical resilience entirely, instantly vaporizing the cursed seeds and blowing massive, smoldering holes completely through their torsos.
The two elite warriors dropped to the cobblestones, dead before they even realized they had been hit.
With their elite commanders annihilated, the center broken, and their flanks crushed, the remaining handful of Forsworn threw down their weapons and attempted to flee into the mountains. Jenassa and Eirik quickly shot them down before they could escape to warn the Hagraven deep inside the ruin.
Silence finally fell over the bloody courtyard of Dead Crone Rock, broken only by the crackle of burning wooden barricades and the heavy, ragged breathing of the apprentices.
Aerion slowly lowered his hands, the residual magicka fading from his fingertips. He looked around the courtyard. Dozens of Forsworn bodies littered the stone steps.
He turned his attention to his retainers. They had executed the plan flawlessly, but close quarters combat with zealots always extracted a toll.
Lydia was favoring her left arm, a deep bruise forming where a warhammer had glanced off her shield. Eisa was bleeding steadily from the gash on her shoulder where the Briarheart had struck her. Onmund and J'zargo were physically untouched, but they were leaning heavily against the stone walls, their magicka reserves dangerously depleted.
Aerion walked over to where Eisa was pressing a strip of linen against her bleeding shoulder.
He didn't cast a spell himself. He looked at Eirik, the mercenary mage, and Brelyna.
"Eirik. Brelyna. Step forward," Aerion commanded, adopting the strict, encouraging tone of a master instructor.
The two mages stepped up, looking at him attentively.
"You both possess a working knowledge of the Restoration school," Aerion stated, gesturing to Eisa's bleeding shoulder and Lydia's bruised arm. "Theory is useless if it cannot be applied under the adrenaline of a post combat scenario. I want you to heal them. Focus on knitting the tissue, not just sealing the skin. Guide the magicka deep into the muscle fibers."
Brelyna nodded, stepping up to Eisa. Her hands began to glow with a soft, warm golden light. She pressed her palms gently near the wound, closing her eyes in concentration. Slowly, the bleeding stopped, the jagged edges of the flesh knitting together under the soothing magic.
Eirik moved to Lydia, casting a Healing Hands spell over her bruised forearm, accelerating the blood flow and repairing the damaged vessels beneath the skin.
Aerion watched them work, offering minor corrections to their magical flow and posture, utilizing the bloody aftermath of the battle as a perfect, practical classroom.
"Well done," Aerion praised them, as the wounds fully closed and the bruising faded. "Your control is improving significantly. If you maintain this discipline, your test for Adept rank will be wonderfully done when you attend it after this campaign ends."
He turned his gaze up toward the towering, imposing stone structure of the main ruin, where the heavy iron doors led into the darkness of the mountain. The courtyard was secure, but the true horror of Dead Crone Rock, the Hagraven and the final fragment of the Razor, waited deep inside.
"Rest for five minutes," Aerion ordered his group, pulling the bronze mask of Krosis back over his face. "Drink whatever potions you need and check your gear. We are going inside."
The apprentices didn't need to be told twice. J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna practically collapsed against a low stone wall, uncorking glowing blue vials with trembling fingers. The bitter, chalky taste of the Magicka potions made Brelyna grimace, but the immediate, rushing warmth that flooded her veins, restoring her depleted core, was relaxing. Eirik leaned heavily on his staff, downing his own vial in three frantic gulps.
Nearby, Lydia, Eisa, and Jenassa uncorked smaller, vibrant green vials. The Stamina potions burned like spiced whiskey on the way down, instantly flushing the lactic acid from their muscles and banishing the heavy, leaden feeling from their limbs.
Aerion did not drink. His core, continuously fed by the infinite singularity of the Eye of Magnus, remained a boundless ocean of power, and his newly ascended physical vessel felt absolutely no fatigue. He stood perfectly still, his golden eyes scanning the heavy iron doors leading into the mountain, listening to the muffled, frantic shouts echoing from deep within the ruin.
"They know we are coming," Aerion noted, turning back to the group. "The element of total surprise is gone, but the element of terror remains. Inside those halls, the combat will be entirely different from the courtyard. It is close quarters. Narrow corridors, blind corners, and multi level traps. You cannot use massive area of effect spells, or you will hit your own allies."
He looked directly at the mages. "Precision is your weapon now. Ice spikes, lightning bolts, focused flames. They rest of you, you hold the choke points. I will take the rearguard."
Lydia frowned, wiping a smear of soot from her cheek. "The rearguard, my Thane? I am sworn to be your shield."
"And you will be the shield for the entire unit, Lydia," Aerion replied smoothly, leaving no room for argument. "The exterior was an overwhelming display of my power because I needed to break their army. Inside, I need to see what you are capable of in the dark. I will be directly behind you. If a blow is fatal, I will intercept it. Otherwise, this mountain belongs to you."
The group nodded, a fierce, collective pride swelling in their chests. They had relied on his godlike power to survive the courtyard, but they were hardened fighters in their own right. They were ready to prove it.
Aerion stepped forward and pushed the heavy iron doors open. They ground against the stone with a deafening screech, revealing a pitch black, descending corridor lit only by the faint, flickering glow of tribal bone totem braziers.
The air inside was suffocating, thick with the smell of dried blood, rotting meat, and the hallucinogenic smoke of burning briar hearts.
"Move," Aerion commanded softly.
Lydia took point, her heavy steel shield raised tightly to her chest, her drawn sword resting upon the rim. Eisa and Jenassa flanked her, their blades held low, their eyes piercing the gloom.
They hadn't made it thirty feet down the corridor when the ambush sprang.
With a series of guttural, feral shrieks, five Forsworn warriors dropped directly from the shadowed wooden rafters above. They were dual-wielding jagged bone axes, intent on burying them in the necks of the intruders.
The Forsworn were absolute masters of close-quarters assassination, vastly deadlier and far more coordinated than any common bandit, but Aerion's retainers were ready.
"Above!" Jenassa hissed.
Lydia didn't look up, she simply angled her shield upward and dropped to one knee. Two Forsworn crashed heavily onto the Ebony steel, their axes sparking uselessly against the metal. Lydia immediately thrust her sword upward, driving the blade directly through the thigh of one of the attackers, sending him screaming to the floor.
Eisa stepped into the narrow space, the Pale Blade humming with localized, freezing air. She parried a falling axe with a brutal backhand strike, spinning gracefully and slicing her blade across the Forsworn's exposed stomach. The magical frost instantly crystallized the blood in the wound, sending the zealot into agonizing shock.
The mages, having heeded Aerion's warning, executed their magic with flawless precision.
As a Forsworn berserker charged down the corridor to reinforce the ambushers, Onmund thrust his hand forward. A single, jagged Ice Spike tore through the dim light, burying itself perfectly into the berserker's chest, pinning him against the stone wall. J'zargo followed up instantly with a concentrated, narrow stream of Sparks, electrocuting a downed warrior before he could swing his axe at Lydia's legs.
Aerion walked slowly behind them, his hands glowing faintly with a ready Ward, but he did not need to cast it. He watched with a mixture of clinical assessment and deep satisfaction as his unit systematically dismantled the Forsworn traps. They moved like a single, lethal organism. The warriors locked down the narrow spaces, and the mages provided surgical, devastating artillery support over their shoulders.
They pushed deeper into the sprawling, multi tiered ruin. The fighting was fierce, dirty, and exhausting. Forsworn shamans attempted to cast explosive runes in the doorways, but Brelyna expertly recognized the magical signatures, casting her own Dispel to shatter the traps before Lydia stepped on them.
When the last Forsworn archer in the interior barracks fell with one of Jenassa's ebony arrows lodged in his throat, a sudden, heavy silence fell over the blood soaked stone rooms.
"Clear," Jenassa announced, stepping over a body to retrieve her arrow.
"Spread out and sweep the rooms," Aerion instructed, stepping into the center of the barracks. "Take whatever is of value. We do not leave resources behind for their reinforcements."
The group immediately began scouring the tribal chests, the crude sleeping furs, and the bodies of the fallen. As expected of a fanatical tribal cult, there was very little in the way of traditional, refined wealth. There were no golden chalices or polished silver necklaces. Instead, there were loose piles of septims looted from caravans, rare alchemical ingredients like Briar Hearts and Taproot, and several scattered, glowing soul gems.
Onmund brought a handful of filled Lesser and Common Soul Gems to Aerion, holding them out respectfully. "Master. These were hidden in the shaman's chest."
Aerion waved his hand dismissively. "Distribute them among yourselves, Onmund. Use them to recharge your staves or practice your enchanting. The gold, the potions, and the gems you find here belong to the unit. Take it all."
The apprentices' eyes widened in delight. To a struggling College student, a handful of filled soul gems and a pouch of loose septims was a small fortune. They greedily stuffed the loot into their satchels, their morale soaring even higher. Aerion's indifference to mundane wealth only further cemented his image as a being who operated on an entirely different plane of existence.
Once the interior was thoroughly stripped, Aerion led them to a winding, spiraling stone staircase that led upward, toward the sky.
The air grew significantly colder as they climbed, the foul stench of the ruin replaced by the biting, freezing wind of the Reach mountains. They were approaching the absolute summit of Dead Crone Rock.
Aerion halted them just below the final heavy wooden door leading out to the exterior altar.
"Listen to me carefully," Aerion warned, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "Beyond this door lies the summit. It is open to the sky, and it is occupied by Drascua, the Hagraven matriarch of this tribe. She will be surrounded by the absolute elite of her guard. A Hagraven is not a mortal woman, she is a creature of dark, sacrificial magic. She will hurl fire that burns vastly hotter than a standard spell, and she will attempt to drain your life force to heal herself."
He pulled the bronze mask of Krosis back over his face, his golden eyes vanishing behind the jagged slits.
"I will take the lead from here," Aerion declared, leaving no room for debate. "When I open this door, the sky will fall on them. Stay behind my wards, and kill anything that survives the initial blast."
He didn't wait for their confirmation. Aerion kicked the heavy wooden doors violently outward. The wood splintered and smashed against the stone walls with a deafening crash.
Aerion stepped out onto the summit.
It was a sprawling, flat expanse of ancient stone, surrounded by sheer, plunging cliffs. At the far end stood an ancient, blood-stained altar made of jagged iron and bone. Standing behind it was a creature straight out of a childhood nightmare.
Drascua was a horrific amalgamation of an elderly woman and a giant, diseased raven. Her skin was gray and pulled taut over her bones, her arms ending in massive, razor sharp black talons, and her back was covered in filthy, molting black feathers.
"INTRUDERS!" Drascua shrieked, a sound that physically scraped against the eardrums of everyone present. "MY CHILDREN, TEAR THEIR HEARTS OUT!"
Eight Forsworn veterans, massive men and women heavily tattooed and wielding dual battleaxes, roared and charged from the flanks of the altar.
Aerion didn't target them. He raised his left hand toward the sky, focusing his mind on the icy void of Oblivion.
With a deafening crack of displaced air, a massive, towering Frost Atronach materialized twenty feet above the charging Forsworn. The jagged golem of black ice plummeted like a meteor, smashing into the center of the stone courtyard with earth-shaking force.
"DESTROY IT!" Drascua shrieked, recognizing the Daedric threat.
The Hagraven thrust her talons forward, unleashing a massive, roaring Fireball that slammed directly into the Frost Atronach's chest. The eight Forsworn veterans simultaneously converged on the golem, hacking wildly at its thick, icy legs with their battleaxes, trying to shatter it before it could swing its massive fists.
It was a perfect, tightly packed cluster of enemies, completely distracted by the summoned Daedra.
Exactly as Aerion had planned.
Aerion raised his right hand, weaving the volatile energies of fire, frost, and lightning together into a single, devastating singularity. He didn't aim at the Forsworn, he aimed directly at the broad, icy back of his own Atronach.
He unleashed the Elemental Blast.
The crackling sphere of plasma struck the Frost Atronach point blank. The Daedric summon, already destabilized by the Hagraven's fire, violently detonated from the impact.
The resulting explosion was catastrophic. It wasn't just a fireball, it was a concussive shockwave of superheated plasma and jagged, high velocity shrapnel made of black Daedric ice. The eight Forsworn veterans swarming the Atronach were caught in the absolute epicenter. They were simultaneously incinerated, electrocuted, and shredded by the exploding ice. Their broken, smoking bodies were violently launched across the courtyard, some tumbling lifelessly over the cliffs.
Drascua shrieked in pure, unadulterated fury as her entire elite guard was annihilated in a fraction of a second.
The Hagraven locked her glowing, hateful eyes onto Aerion. She raised both of her taloned hands, gathering a swirling, terrifying vortex of dark red fire.
"BURN TO ASH!" Drascua screamed, hurling a massive, overcharged stream of Incinerate directly at the High Elf.
Aerion stepped forward, sweeping his left hand in a wide, commanding arc. A brilliant, shimmering dome of magical energy, a Greater Ward, snapped into existence in front of him.
The Hagraven's superheated fire crashed against the ward, splashing outward like a liquid wave of heat, completely failing to penetrate the barrier. Lydia, Jenassa, and the apprentices took immediate cover behind Aerion's towering frame, protected entirely from the searing heat.
"Now," Aerion commanded softly.
He dropped the ward, trusting his heavily enchanted Nordic Carved Armor to absorb any residual heat. He didn't cast another spell. Instead, he reached over his shoulder and gripped the hilt of a weapon he rarely deemed necessary to draw.
With a metallic hiss, Aerion drew the Black Prism.
The Ebony Sword was a masterpiece of lethal enchantment. The dark, polished metal of the blade seemed to absorb the ambient light, but the etched runes along the fuller pulsed with a terrifying, chaotic energy. It was simultaneously wreathed in flickering flames, crackling static electricity, and a thin, localized layer of absolute zero frost. Hidden beneath the elemental fury was a deep, blood red glow, a powerful Absorb Health enchantment designed to rip the very life force from its victims.
Aerion surged forward, crossing the stone courtyard with the terrifying, unnatural speed of a predator.
Drascua shrieked, desperately throwing a jagged Ice Spike toward his chest. Aerion didn't even bother to parry. He simply angled his shoulder, letting the spike shatter harmlessly against his dense, enchanted pauldron.
He closed the distance instantly, stepping directly inside the Hagraven's guard.
Drascua raised her razor sharp talons, trying to rake them across his throat. Aerion ducked effortlessly under the wild swing. Using his massive physical strength, he drove his armored elbow directly into her chest, shattering her ribs and staggering her backward against the bloody altar. Before the creature could even draw a breath to scream, Aerion swung the Black Prism in a brutal, horizontal arc.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 1030/1030
Stamina: 1070/1070
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 267
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Eye Of Magnus (MAX LEVEL), Summon Dragon (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+7)/Lightning(+5)/Frost(+4)) (Level 0/0/0), Restoration (Healing(+4)/Purify(+2)) (Level 0/98), Alteration (Level 43), Illusion (Level 62), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+3)) (Level 37/0), Persuasion(+3) (Level 92), Smithing(+1) (Level 79), Sneak(+1) (Level 64), One Handed(+2) (Level 0), Two Handed(+1) (Level 29), Lockpicking (Level 55), Archery(+1) (Level 0), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 42), Block (Level 70), Pickpocket (Level 8), & Heavy Armor(+2) (Level 0)
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), & IIZ (Ice)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, the Golden Claw, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Deed to Tundra Homestead, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Potion of Healing, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson, Gauldur Black Bow, Dwarven Battleaxe, & Mehrunes Razor Hilt
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Potions of Plentiful Magicka
3x Potions of Minor Stamina, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), Potions of Minor Magicka, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), & Greater Soul Gems
5x Mod Chests
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
10x Lesser Soul Gems
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 49.51 KG / 885 KG
Septims: 252,867