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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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As Aerion walked back toward the Bannered Mare, he summoned his status panel. The day had been incredibly long, physically exhausting, and mentally taxing. But as the numbers floated in his vision, he knew it had been worth every second.
The sky above Whiterun had deepened into a rich, bruised purple by the time Aerion and Lupin made their way back up the winding stone paths toward the Wind District.
The bustling energy of the afternoon market had finally begun to dwindle, the shout of vendors replaced by the rhythmic clinking of the city guards lighting the iron braziers that lined the streets. The cooling evening air carried the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat, a comforting aroma that signaled the end of a long, grueling day of labor for the citizens of the hold.
Aerion walked with a measured, deliberate pace, his mind constantly whirring as he processed the sheer volume of events that had transpired since the morning. He had forged an iron sword, secured a working partnership with the second best blacksmith in the city, and pulled a staggering twenty five thousand septims from the invisible ether of his mod chests.
As they approached the heavy timber doors of the Bannered Mare, Lupin let out an eager, high pitched yip, his bushy tail wagging in frantic anticipation of the sweet roll he had been promised. Aerion shook his head at the gluttonous fox, pushing the tavern door open and stepping into the welcoming heat of the common room.
The Bannered Mare was already more than half full, the evening crowd having descended to claim their usual tables. The air was thick with the smell of spilled ale, baked bread, and the sweat of working men and women seeking solace at the bottom of a tankard.
Mikael the bard was plucking a lively, upbeat tune on his lute, his voice barely carrying over the boisterous laughter and heated debates of the patrons.
Aerion wove through the crowded room with practiced grace, his tall, golden wkinned frame drawing a few curious glances, though the locals were slowly becoming accustomed to the sight of the resident High Elf.
He made a direct line for the main counter, where Hulda was wiping her hands on a heavily stained rag, having just served a round of foaming mead to a trio of off duty guards.
As the guards took their drinks and moved toward the hearth, Aerion stepped up to the polished wood of the bar. He allowed a carefully constructed expression of mild, sheepish embarrassment to cross his refined features.
"Good evening, Hulda," Aerion said, his melodic voice cutting smoothly through the tavern's din. He rubbed the back of his neck in a very human gesture of contrition. "I must offer you my sincerest apologies. I was just walking through the market when I suddenly realized I have been terribly remiss regarding my payments with you."
Hulda paused her wiping, leaning her forearms against the counter with a look of mild amusement dancing in her eyes. "Oh? So you finally remembered, did you, Aerion?" she chuckled, the sound warm and raspy.
Aerion let out a soft, selfcdeprecating smile. "I truly didn't mean to forget, Hulda. Between the bounty at the basin, the negotiations and teachings with Ysolda, and my sudden decision to take up some physical training in the Jorrvaskr courtyard... I am afraid my mind was entirely swamped with other matters."
Reaching into his leather satchel, and seamlessly pulling the exact coinage from his mental inventory, Aerion withdrew a heavy handful of gold. He began placing the coins onto the counter in neat, precise stacks.
"Thirty septims to cover the three days I have already stayed in the room without paying," Aerion explained, sliding the first stack forward. He then produced a slightly larger pile, placing it beside the first. "And the remaining ninety septims will cover my room for tonight, as well as the next eight days in advance. One hundred and twenty septims in total. I prefer to have my debts settled."
Hulda's smile widened as she expertly swept the gold into her strongbox, not even bothering to count the stacks, a clear sign that he had earned her absolute trust. "It is not a problem at all, Aerion. Truly, I'm just glad you remembered on your own. I always thought your kind were the sort who remembered absolutely everything, considering how fast you lot manage to learn all those complicated magics."
"Ah, well, that is a common misconception," Aerion joked, leaning casually against the bar. "Not all High Elves are cut from the exact same cloth, Hulda. There are those of us who are decidedly different, possessing our own unique flaws and forgetfulness. I happen to be one of the latter."
Hulda let out a hearty laugh, shaking her head. "I can certainly believe that one for sure. You are definitely the different one, Aerion. I've never seen an elf swing a mace or drag giant ears through the city gates."
"Speaking of different," Aerion said, looking down at his feet. Lupin had planted his front paws on the base of the wooden counter, his amber eyes locked onto the glass display case containing the baked goods.
The fox let out a soft, pathetic whine, perfectly mimicking the sound of a starving creature despite having eaten an entire apple and a bowl of stew earlier in the day. "I believe I owe my glutton protector his daily wage. One sweet roll, if you please."
"Coming right up for the little hero," Hulda cooed, reaching into the case and pulling out a fresh, heavily glazed pastry. Aerion placed three more septims on the counter to cover the cost, taking the sweet roll and tossing it lightly to the floor. Lupin caught it with terrifying, predatory precision, instantly dragging his prize under an empty stool to devour it in peace.
With his debts settled and his familiar placated, Aerion turned his attention to the true business of the evening. He scanned the room, his eyes skipping over the usual crowd near the central fire pit.
To his satisfaction, he spotted Sinmir sitting in a dimly lit corner booth near the back wall, far away from his usual spot. It was a tactical choice, the veteran Nord was already adapting to his new role, seeking out a vantage point where he could observe the entire tavern without being easily overheard.
Aerion walked over and casually took the seat opposite Sinmir. Lupin, having finished his pastry in record time, trotted over and curled up comfortably at Aerion's feet.
Sinmir had a tankard of mead in his massive hand, but his eyes were sharp and alert. He didn't look like a depressed drunkard anymore; he looked like a soldier awaiting his marching orders.
Aerion leaned forward, resting his forearms on the scarred wooden table, and lowered his voice to a smooth, confidential murmur. "I have the operational funds we discussed earlier today, Captain. Now, we have a logistical choice to make. Would you prefer to receive the entire sum immediately tonight? If so, I can provide it to you in a single, unremarkable sack. Alternatively, if you would prefer the funds to be distributed in smaller, less conspicuous batches, I will need to procure several discrete pouches, which means I cannot hand over the coin until tomorrow."
Sinmir stopped drinking, lowering his tankard to the table with a soft thud. He wiped a bit of foam from his thick beard, his brow furrowing in concentration as he considered the logistics. "That depends entirely on the size of the war chest, boss. How much gold are we talking about for this initial push?"
Aerion met the Nord's gaze without blinking. "Five thousand septims," he said quietly, letting the number hang in the air between them. "That sum should adequately cover your personal recruitment fees, the initial wages for your men, the purchase of standardized equipment, and the cost of renting a secure location for them to sleep and train. Or do you believe that is not enough to establish a proper foothold?"
Sinmir, who had just taken another sip of mead out of sheer habit, suddenly choked. He hacked and let out several hard, violent coughs, pounding a fist against his own armored chest as he tried to clear his airway.
A few patrons turned to look, but quickly went back to their own conversations when they saw the imposing Nord recovering.
"Five... five thousand?" Sinmir wheezed, his eyes wide with genuine shock as he stared at the High Elf. "Boss, by the breath of Ysmir, that is more than enough! I don't think you realize exactly how much purchasing power you hold in your hands. Five thousand septims could buy a medium sized, fully furnished estate right here in the Wind District!"
Sinmir leaned over the table, his voice dropping into a frantic, excited whisper as his military mind began to instantly calculate the logistics. "With that kind of coin, I can easily recruit ten hardened veterans or disgraced guards who are desperate for a second chance. I could outfit every single one of them with full sets of heavy iron armor from Adrianne's forge, standard issue broadswords, and thick banded shields. I can buy a half dozen quality hunting bows with quivers full of broadhead arrows. I can rent an abandoned farmhouse or a ruined watchtower outside the city walls for practically nothing, and I'd still have enough gold left over to cover their food, ale, and wages for the next two months!"
Hearing the sheer enthusiasm and the meticulous, instant planning from the Nord, Aerion nodded his head in solemn agreement, while inwardly he heaved a massive sigh of relief.
He had thrown out the number hoping it would be sufficient, but hearing that it would fully fund a heavily armed squad of ten men for an entire season was excellent news. It proved that his investment was sound, and that Sinmir was exactly the right man for the job.
"I am pleased to hear that your vision aligns with the budget," Aerion said calmly. "So, how shall we proceed? Do you wish to take the funds tonight, or shall we wait for tomorrow?"
Sinmir picked up his tankard, taking a slow, steadying drink as he looked deeply into Aerion's golden eyes. The excitement faded slightly, replaced by a hardened, cynical edge. The veteran soldier was testing the waters.
"Boss," Sinmir said slowly, his voice low and grinding. "Are you absolutely sure you want to hand a sum like that over to a man you just met today? You realize I could just take that sack, walk out the main gates, and disappear into the night. Five thousand septims is a good enough sum for a man to cross the border into Cyrodiil and live a very comfortable, quiet life for a long, long while."
It was a test of trust, but more importantly, it was a test of strength. Sinmir needed to know if the elf was a naive fool with deep pockets, or a dangerous player who understood the rules of the underworld.
Aerion let out a soft, chilling chuckle. He didn't break eye contact. Slowly, he let the warm, polite facade of the traveling scholar slip away, allowing the ancient, terrifying arrogance of the Altmer to bleed into his posture and his voice. He leaned in closer, the shadows of the tavern seemingly clinging to his sharp features.
"I am offering you this gold because I trust your honor as a Nord, Sinmir," Aerion whispered, his voice dropping to a smooth, icy cadence that sent a shiver down the veteran's spine. "I know that you care for this city more than you care for an easy retirement. However... in the highly unlikely event that you decide to betray that trust and run with my coin, you should know that you will not find peace in Cyrodiil. You will not find peace anywhere on Nirn."
Aerion's eyes seemed to catch the light of the hearth, glowing with a faint, unnatural intensity. "I possess powers and connections that a man of iron and steel cannot even begin to fathom. If you steal from me, I will not send guards to arrest you. I will not post a bounty. I will simply track you down myself, and I will unravel the magic binding your soul to your flesh, slowly and deliberately, until you are begging for the cold release of Sovngarde. Do we understand one another, Captain?"
Sinmir sat frozen, his hand tightening around his tankard. He looked deeply into Aerion's eyes, searching for a bluff, but he found nothing but an abyss of absolute certainty. The High Elf wasn't boasting, he was stating a clinical, inevitable fact.
For a terrible second, Aerion thought he might have pushed the intimidation too far, risking the entire alliance. But then, a familiar, triumphant golden chime echoed in his mind.
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 52!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 53!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 54!]
The tension broke. Sinmir let out a sudden, slightly awkward chuckle, the nervous sound of a man who had just looked over the edge of a cliff and decided he very much preferred solid ground. He rubbed the back of his neck, the hostility completely draining from his posture.
"Well now, no need to be so serious about it, boss," Sinmir said, forcing a grin that was only slightly strained. "I was just making sure you understood the stakes. Don't worry about me. I'm a man of my word, and I don't break contracts. I wouldn't betray you. I'll take the money tonight, in full. It's better I secure the funds and start making purchases at first light."
Aerion nodded, the terrifying Altmer predator instantly vanishing, replaced once more by the calm, agreeable employer. "I am glad we have an understanding. Wait right here. I shall return momentarily."
Aerion stood up and navigated his way through the tavern, ascending the wooden stairs to the second floor. He entered his rented room and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, he accessed his mental inventory. He materialized the small sturdy, unmarked canvas sack. Then, with a focused thought, he initiated the transfer.
It was a surreal experience. He didn't count the coins physically, the system managed the transaction flawlessly. A heavy, continuous stream of gold septims poured from the invisible void directly into the open sack, the metal clinking and rustling like a miniature waterfall. When the digital counter hit exactly 5,000, the flow stopped.
Aerion tied the thick leather drawstrings of the sack, pulling them tight into a complex knot. The sack was incredibly heavy, weighing roughly fifty pounds in physical mass, but with his stamina and body that that have been trained today, he hoisted it much more easily over his shoulder.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 160/160 Stamina: 150/150 Magicka: 290/290 Level: 30
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level 29/30), Persuasion (Level 54), Smithing (Level 13), Sneak (Level 16), One Handed (Level 27), Restoration (Healing) (Level 7), Two Handed (Level 31), Lockpicking (Level 9), Archery (Level 33), Alteration (Level 4), Enchanting (Level 9), Light Armor (Level 16), & Block (Level 16)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Steel Dagger, Long Bow, Potions of Minor Stamina, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Copper and Onyx Circlet, Helmet of Magicka, Cuirass of Minor Health, Steel Sword of Embers, Dwarven Bow of Paralysis, & Mammoth Tusk
2x Gold Garnet Rings, Gold Ring, & Scroll Of Fireball
3x Silver Garnet Rings, Silver Rings, & Sapphire,
4x Lockpicks, Potions of Minor Magicka, & Amethyst
6x Potions Of Minor Healing & Ruby
8x Iron Arrows
Weight: 127 KG / 375 KG
Septims = 70,451