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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
From the overlapping, chaotic sounds echoing off the rocks, there must have been more than ten of them howling in unison. The sheer volume of the noise clearly indicated that this wasn't just a simple hunting pair.
"What in Oblivion..." Titus Varr whispered, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of his Imperial sword. "That sounds like an entire army of them."
Gwaering's pointed ears twitched wildly as he immediately stepped forward, his face grim as he analyzed the hunting cries. He looked toward the treeline on the elevated hills.
"It's the war," the Wood Elf stated, his voice tight with tension. "The ongoing fighting between the Empire and the Stormcloaks has caused many of the deer and elks in the province to be aggressively hunted to feed the marching armies. The local wolves are starving."
"So they've decided to group up," Signy Deep-Winter concluded, gripping her spear tightly. "They're merging their packs to search for easier, domesticated prey."
"And Pelagia Farm's livestock is the easiest meal for miles," Sinmir growled, stepping into the center of the yard, his massive battleaxe already drawn. The veteran captain didn't waste a single second. The time for training was over, the time to do their deed had arrived.
"Company, form a line!" Sinmir's booming voice cut through the rising panic of the farmhands in the distance. "Pick up your weapons and lock your armor! We do not let a single beast past the perimeter! If they want fresh meat, they're going to have to chew through our iron first! Move!"
The mercenaries moved with terrifying, synchronized efficiency. Swords rang as they were drawn from scabbards, and wooden shields clashed together as the men and women formed a solid defensive wall between the hills and the main farmstead.
Aerion tossed the dry rag aside and eagerly joined the defensive line, stepping into the center of the formation. Lupin stayed loyally beside his master's boots, his cinnamon fur bristling and his teeth bared in a protective, fearless snarl.
Aerion did not draw his iron sword this time. Instead, he simply raised his empty hands, his palms facing the rolling hills. He could hear the snapping of twigs and the low, guttural growls approaching through the brush.
A dark, dangerous smile spread across the High Elf's face. If the wolves wanted to attack the farmstead, they were more than welcome to try.
With a gamer's ruthless pragmatism, Aerion realized this impending beast attack was an absolutely perfect opportunity to freely level up his Destruction magic on living, moving targets as he haven't got the chance yet. Sparks of raw lightning and fire began to dance on both of his fingertips respectively, and the air around him grew stiflingly hot.
Standing in the center of the formation, Aerion felt the familiar, comfortable hum of his passive abilities operating in the background of his mind. Chief among them was his Animal Affinity, a maximized skill that projected an invisible, soothing aura of absolute dominance and peace toward the beasts of Nirn.
If he left it active, the starving wolves crested the hill, took one sniff of his magical presence, and either cowered in absolute submission or turned tail and fled back into the frozen wilderness.
But Aerion had no need for two dozen feral pets, nor did he want to chase them off. He was a gamer at his core, and a gamer saw a pack of mobs not as a threat, but as an opportunity for experience points.
Closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, Aerion reached deep into the architecture of his own soul and deliberately suppressed the aura. It felt like wrapping a thick, suffocating blanket over a warm lantern. He forcefully dialed back the magical frequency that communicated with the wild, shutting off his Animal Affinity.
Beside him, Lupin let out a soft, confused whine, his ears flicking as the comforting pressure of his master's aura vanished, but the fox remained steadfastly by Aerion's boots, sensing the imminent danger.
"Hold the line!" Sinmir's booming voice suddenly shattered the tense silence, the massive Nord captain pacing heavily behind the front rank of his warriors. He rested the head of his iron battleaxe against his shoulder, his eyes hard and uncompromising.
"Listen to me! I know none of you are nervous like some soft bellied milk drinkers from the city, but I want to remind you to be cautious! Do not let your guard down just because they are beasts! A lone wolf is an easy pelt. A few of them are a nuisance. But a starving huge pack of this size is a completely different matter! They are desperate, they are hungry, and if you break formation, they will drag you down by your throat and tear you to pieces! We hold the shield wall, we let them break against our iron, and we butcher them where they stand!"
A chorus of deep, affirmative grunts, sharp nods, and the rhythmic bashing of swords against wooden shields echoed through the company. Torsten Iron-Arm let out a low, rumbling laugh, while Runa Shield-Breaker simply spat in the dirt, her grip tightening on her two handed axe. They were ready.
"Sinmir! Captain Sinmir!"
The frantic, echoing shout came from the rear of the property. Aerion and Sinmir both glanced over their shoulders to see Severio Pelagia standing near the massive wooden doors of the main farmhouse, cupping his hands around his mouth.
"Did you hear the howling, Sinmir?" the Imperial farmer shouted, his voice carrying a distinct edge of panic as he looked toward the hills. "That sounds like a small army of the beasts!"
"We hear them loud and clear, Severio!" Sinmir shouted back, his voice easily carrying across the tilled fields. "Now get inside! Take your farmhands, go into the main building, and lock the doors tight! Do not come out until I give the all clear! Let us handle these mongrels! This is exactly what you gave us the cheap rent for!"
Severio, recognizing the absolute authority in the veteran commander's voice, didn't argue. "Alright then!" he shouted back, waving a hand in acknowledgment.
"By the Eight, if I was just ten years younger, I'd be out there joining you boys and girls in the dirt! Keep yourselves safe, alright? I need you alive to patrol tomorrow!"
With that final, wistful declaration, Severio turned on his heel, aggressively ushering his frightened assistants inside the sturdy farmhouse and slamming the heavy timber doors shut behind them. The loud, solid thud of the iron deadbolt sliding into place could be heard all the way from the training yard.
A ripple of dark, gallows humor spread through the mercenary ranks at the farmer's expense.
"Ten years younger?" Erlend scoffed quietly, adjusting his grip on his iron sword. "The old man probably couldn't lift a sword now without throwing his back out."
"Hey, leave the farmer alone," Valdar, the massive youth from Riften, chuckled deeply from behind his heavy shield. "He grows the grain that makes our ale. He's the most important man in the hold as far as I'm concerned."
"Quiet in the ranks!" Sinmir barked, snapping their focus instantly back to the ridgeline. "Save the jokes for the tavern! Eyes front! Here they come!"
True to the captain's warning, the crest of the hill suddenly erupted with movement. A massive, surging tide of matted grey, brown, and snow white fur poured over the rocky ridge.
They moved with terrifying, fluid speed, their jaws slavering and their yellow eyes fixed with feral desperation on the line of armored meat standing between them and the farm's livestock.
From what Aerion could quickly count, there were easily twenty to twenty five wolves in the pack, an unprecedented, unnatural gathering driven purely by the starvation of the ongoing civil war.
Seeing the sheer mass of the incoming beasts, Sinmir stepped back and threw a heavy arm across Aerion's chest, attempting to push the High Elf behind the defensive line.
"Boss, fall back!" Sinmir ordered urgently. "Stay behind the shield wall and try to hit these bastards with your magic from a safe distance! We'll keep them off you!"
Aerion smoothly slipped out from under Sinmir's arm, his golden eyes burning with a sudden, intense arcane light. He didn't retreat a single step.
"There is no need to worry about me, Captain," Aerion responded, his voice terrifyingly calm amidst the rising chaos. "Focus on leading your men and women. Hold the line. I will thin their ranks."
Without waiting for a response, Aerion raised his hands. In his right palm, a swirling, superheated sphere of orange and yellow flame materialized, roaring to life and casting dancing shadows across the dirt.
In his left hand, the air crackled and snapped as arcs of pure, blinding violet lightning coalesced around his fingers, smelling sharply of ozone and impending destruction.
He didn't hesitate. As the vanguard of the wolf pack closed the distance, Aerion thrust his hands forward, dual casting the elements with lethal precision.
The Fireball shot from his right hand like a miniature sun, hurtling across the distance and detonating squarely in the chest of a massive, leaping timber wolf.
The beast was instantly incinerated, the concussive blast of the explosion throwing two other wolves violently off their feet.
Simultaneously, a jagged, continuous stream of Lightning erupted from his left hand, arcing through the air and striking a snow wolf directly in the snout. The raw electrical current seized the beast's muscles, frying it from the inside out before it even hit the ground.
[Destruction (Fire) Leveled Up to 30!]
[Destruction (Lightning) Leveled Up to 31!]
[Destruction (Fire) Leveled Up to 31!]
[Destruction (Lightning) Leveled Up to 32!]
The familiar, euphoric rush of the system leveling up his skills washed over his mind, but Aerion didn't lose his focus. The opening volley had been devastating, but the pack was too large and too desperate to be deterred by the sudden death of two of their own.
"Loose!" Sinmir roared.
From the flanks of the formation, the sharp, rhythmic thwack of bowstrings filled the air. Gwaering, the Wood Elf, fired with breathtaking, mechanical speed, his iron arrows burying themselves deep into the necks and shoulders of the charging beasts.
Beside him, Jora, the scarred archer, took longer, heavier draws, her arrows hitting with enough kinetic force to pin a leaping wolf directly to the frozen earth.
"Brace!" Sinmir commanded, raising his heavy shield as the surviving wolves finally crashed into the mercenary line.
The impact was brutal. The wolves threw their bodies recklessly against the interlocking iron and wood shields, snapping their jaws and clawing frantically at the mercenaries' armor.
Torsten Iron-Arm absorbed the charge of two wolves simultaneously, his massive frame barely shifting before he brought his warhammer down in a devastating, skull crushing arc.
Runa Shield-Breaker stepped out from the line, swinging her two-handed axe in a wide, bloody circle, cleaving through fur and bone with terrifying ease.
Titus Varr, fighting with the rigid, flawless discipline of the Imperial Legion, used his shield to deflect a snapping jaw before executing a perfect, lethal thrust into a wolf's throat.
Rashid al-Dan, the Redguard, didn't use a shield at all, he danced through the chaotic melee, his dual iron dagger moving in blindingly fast, precise strikes that bled the beasts dry before they could even track his movements.
Aerion acted as the company's heavy artillery, his mind operating at a hyper accelerated tactical level. He couldn't just unleash massive area of effect spells without risking his own men in the crossfire, so he utilized absolute, surgical precision.
He wove streams of concentrated fire through the narrow gaps between Torsten and Haldir, catching a flanking wolf right in the eyes. He hurled short, controlled bursts of lightning over Runa's shoulder, shocking a beast that had attempted to leap over the Nord woman's guard.
The heat of the battle, the precise targeting, and the constant drain and regeneration of his massive Magicka pool pushed his Fast Magic Mastery to its absolute limits. Every successful strike, every perfectly timed spell that saved a mercenary from a nasty bite, triggered a cascade of golden text in his mind.
[Destruction (Fire) Leveled Up to 32... 33... 34!]
[Destruction (Lightning) Leveled Up to 33... 34... 35!]
"Don't let them surround us! Keep the line tight!" Sinmir bellowed, burying his battleaxe deep into the spine of a massive alpha wolf that had managed to tackle Erlend to the dirt.
Sinmir hauled the beast off his man, tossing the heavy carcass aside as Erlend scrambled back to his feet, a fresh set of bloody scratch marks across his iron pauldron.
Aerion saw a trio of wolves attempting to break around the far left flank, aiming directly for the archers. With a swift, fluid motion, Aerion cut off the stream of lightning and focused entirely on the flames.
He channeled his magicka, feeling the intense heat build in his palms, and unleashed a continuous, sweeping torrent of fire across the grass. The flames caught the dry tundra grass, creating a temporary wall of blazing heat that engulfed the three flanking wolves, their pained yelps quickly silenced by the inferno.
[Destruction (Fire) Leveled Up to 35... 36... 37!]
[Destruction (Lightning) Leveled Up to 36... 37!]
The battle felt like it dragged on for an hour, though in reality, it was over in less than five minutes. The sheer, overwhelming discipline of the heavily armored mercenaries, combined with the devastating, pinpoint magical artillery provided by Aerion, proved far too much for the feral pack to overcome.
The last remaining wolf, a scrawny, bloodied creature with an arrow sticking out of its flank, realized the futility of the assault. It let out a pathetic whimper, turned its tail, and attempted to limp back toward the hills.
It didn't make it five paces before a perfectly aimed arrow from Gwaering pierced its skull, dropping it instantly to the frost covered grass.
Silence descended upon the training yard once again, broken only by the heavy, ragged panting of the mercenaries and the crackle of the few remaining patches of burning grass. The dirt was stained a dark, rusty red, and the bodies of over twenty large wolves lay scattered across the perimeter.
Sinmir leaned heavily on his battleaxe, his chest heaving as he scanned his line of warriors. "Sound off!" he ordered gruffly. "Anyone missing limbs? Anyone taking a dirt nap?"
A series of tired, adrenaline fueled chuckles and grunts followed as the mercenaries checked themselves and their neighbors.
"I'm whole, Captain," Torsten grunted, wiping wolf blood from the face of his hammer. "Got a nasty bite on my forearm where one of the bastards got its teeth around my bracer, but the armor held."
"Took a scratch to the thigh when I went down," Erlend reported, wincing slightly as he pressed a hand against his torn leather trousers. "Nothing that won't scar over."
Sinmir let out a long breath of relief, seeing that there were no fatalities and only a handful of minor, superficial injuries. It was a flawless victory for their first true engagement as a company.
"Alright, gather your breath, but don't get lazy," Sinmir ordered, his logistical mind already shifting to the aftermath. He gestured to the scattered corpses.
"Torsten, Valdar, start dragging the bodies into a pile. Gwaering, Rashid, you two know how to handle a skinning knife better than the rest of us. Harvest the pelts, good wolf leather fetches a decent price in the city. Knock out the fangs for the alchemists, and start butchering the meat. We can salt it and make jerkies for the winter rations."
Sinmir paused, looking at a few of the carcasses that had been on the receiving end of Aerion's direct spells. They were little more than smoking, blackened lumps of charred meat and fused bone.
"Except for those charred ones the boss cooked," Sinmir added dryly. "Leave those for the crows. The leather is ruined and the meat tastes like ash."
The mercenaries laughed, the tension fully breaking as they sheathed their weapons and set about the grim but profitable task of harvesting the battlefield.
Aerion dismissed the lingering sparks of magicka from his fingertips, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. His Destruction skills had leaped forward dramatically, but his work was not yet done.
He walked smoothly across the blood stained grass, approaching Torsten, who was currently trying to wrap a dirty strip of linen around the bleeding bite mark on his forearm.
"Hold still, Torsten," Aerion instructed, his voice gentle but authoritative.
Torsten looked up, confused, but he froze as Aerion raised his hands. A warm, brilliant, golden light suddenly bloomed from the High Elf's palms. It wasn't the harsh, destructive light of fire, but the soothing, restorative energy of pure life magic.
Aerion pressed his glowing hands near Torsten's forearm. The Nord's eyes widened in sheer disbelief as the deep puncture wounds literally knitted themselves together before his eyes. The torn flesh fused, the bleeding stopped instantly, and within seconds, nothing remained but a faint, pink scar.
"By the Gods," Torsten whispered, flexing his arm, finding no pain whatsoever. He looked up at Aerion, a profound, unshakeable gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, boss. I... I owe you."
"You owe me your blade, Torsten, nothing more," Aerion let out a small smile.
He moved systematically down the line, finding every mercenary who had suffered a scratch, a bruise, or a bite during the chaotic melee.
He channeled his healing spell over Erlend's torn thigh, sealing the laceration instantly. He healed a nasty gash on Signy's shoulder, and mended a bruised rib for Haldir.
With every application of the restorative magic, his system interface chimed happily, recognizing his repeated, successful manipulation of the restorative arts.
[Restoration (Healing) Leveled Up to 8!]
[Restoration (Healing) Leveled Up to 9!]
[Restoration (Healing) Leveled Up to 10!]
[Restoration (Healing) Leveled Up to 11!]
[Restoration (Healing) Leveled Up to 12!]
[Restoration (Healing) Leveled Up to 13!]
[Restoration (Healing) Leveled Up to 14!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 57!]
As the final golden light faded from his hands, Aerion stood among his men and women. They were looking at him differently now.
The respect they had found for him in the sparring ring had been cemented in the blood of real combat, but this, this act of personally tending to their wounds, of using magic not just to destroy, but to heal them, solidified something far deeper. It forged absolute loyalty.
He wasn't just a wealthy High Elf paying their wages anymore. He was their boss, their artillery, and their healer. He was a leader worth dying for. Aerion mentally looked at his newly earned attribute point to his ever growing reservoir, completely satisfied with the morning's incredibly profitable harvest.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 200/200 Stamina: 200/200 Magicka: 330/330 Level: 56 ➝ 57
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level 37/37), Persuasion (Level 54), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 16), One Handed (Level 64), Restoration (Healing) (Level 14), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 9), Archery (Level 72), Alteration (Level 4), Enchanting (Level 19), Light Armor (Level 40), & Block (Level 60)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Steel Dagger, Long Bow, Potions of Minor Stamina, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Copper and Onyx Circlet, Mammoth Tusk, Iron Shield, Steel Mace, & Steel Warhammer
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: 92 KG / 400 KG
Septims = 60,651