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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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They passed through the heavy iron portcullis, stepping out onto the cobblestone bridge that spanned the rushing waters of the moat, and began to make their way down the winding dirt path that led away from the city walls and toward the sprawling plains of the Whiterun tundra.
The morning air of the Whiterun plains carried a crisp, biting chill that swept down from the snow capped peak of the Throat of the World, mingling with the earthy scents of trampled grass and woodsmoke as Aerion, Lupin, and Sinmir made their way down the winding cobblestone path away from the city gates.
The golden light of the rising sun was just beginning to spill across the vast tundra, painting the world in vibrant hues of amber and long, stretching shadows, casting a majestic glow over the ancient stone walls they were leaving behind.
As they walked down the sloping road, they passed by the colorful, heavily laden tents of the Khajiit caravans to their right, where the feline merchants were just beginning to stir, setting out their exotic wares of moon sugar, fine silks, and strange trinkets upon their woven rugs.
Aerion cast a brief, calculating glance toward the encampment, knowing that soon enough, his business partner Ysolda should be in the attempt of forging a highly profitable alliance with Ri'saad and his people, an alliance that Aerion himself was entirely waiting to succeed.
To their left stood the wooden fences and thatched roofs of the Whiterun Stables, where the smell of hay and horse manure was thick in the air, with Skulvar Sable-Hilt already awake and manning the stables, brushing down a massive, heavily muscled draft horse.
Skulvar paused his brushing as the trio approached, letting out a gruff but respectful morning greeting to Sinmir, clearly recognizing the veteran warrior, and Sinmir returned the greeting with a sharp nod as they walked past the fence.
Aerion, maintaining his composed, dignified Altmer persona, simply offered the stable master a polite, silent nod of his head, his golden eyes sweeping over the horses with the assessing gaze of a man who would soon need mounts for an entire company of soldiers.
Lupin, meanwhile, trotted happily at Aerion's heels, his nose twitching wildly as he took in the overwhelming sensory overload of the stables and the caravans, though he remembered his master's strict orders and refrained from chasing the stable hands' chickens, behaving with a surprising amount of vulpine elegance.
Leaving the stables behind, they continued southward down the dirt path, their boots crunching softly against the gravel until they approached a sprawling, fertile expanse of agricultural land that Aerion immediately recognized from his deep, meta knowledge of the game as Pelagia Farm.
Owned by the Imperial farmer Severio Pelagia, the farmstead was a massive property by Skyrim standards, a vital artery of food production for the city of Whiterun, featuring a large, slow turning wheat mill that creaked rhythmically in the morning breeze, a couple of sturdy wooden storehouses and barns, and a main residential building where the farmhands and workers slept after their grueling days in the fields.
The rest of the sprawling property was dedicated to neatly tilled rows of cabbages, leeks, and golden wheat, alongside a bustling chicken coop where hens pecked lazily at the frosted dirt.
Aerion paused at the edge of the property, taking in the sheer size of the operation, before turning to his newly appointed captain with a raised, inquisitive eyebrow.
"Is this the place you rented, Sinmir?" Aerion asked, his tone laced with mild amusement. "You cannot possibly be telling me that you managed to rent the entire farmstead from Severio on the budget I provided, the man makes his entire living off these fields, he wouldn't just hand over his primary source of income."
Sinmir let out a deep, booming laugh at the very suggestion, shaking his horned, helmeted head. "Boss, that would never happen in a hundred years, the old man would never agree to give up his crops, no matter how much gold we dumped on his porch."
Sinmir explained, gesturing with a thick, leather gauntleted hand toward the far edge of the property. "I just rented one of his outer storehouses, the one over there with the solid stone foundation. It was sitting completely empty, the roof was sound, and he hasn't stored any of this season's grain or crop produce in it yet, so it was just collecting dust and taking up space."
Following Sinmir's pointed finger, Aerion saw the building in question, a large, rectangular wooden structure sitting heavily upon a thick base of quarried stone, positioned at the very rear edge of the farm near the rocky incline of the surrounding mountains.
It was geographically perfect, it was isolated enough from the main farmhouse to offer privacy, backed against a defensible mountain wall, yet close enough to the main road to allow for rapid deployment if the men were needed in the city.
Aerion, seeing the strategic value of this placement, nodded his head in deep approval, turning back to the Nord and saying to him that he had done an exceptionally good piece of work.
As the two men stood there discussing the logistics of the base, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching over the dirt drew their attention, and an older Imperial man dressed in practical, earth toned farming clothes approached them with a wide, welcoming smile on his weathered face.
He called out a warm greeting to Sinmir, his voice carrying the distinct, disciplined cadence of a man who had once served in the military before trading his sword for a plowshare.
Both Aerion and Sinmir turned to look at the approaching farmer, and Sinmir smiled, returning the greeting with genuine warmth.
"Severio," Sinmir called back, his voice friendly. "Why have you come out to the farm this early in the morning? You usually don't leave your house in the city until the sun has fully crested the walls, it's rare to see you out here before the dew has dried."
Severio chuckled, running a dirt stained hand through his greying hair, his smile widening as he looked over the veteran Nord. "Well, Sinmir, since you and your new band of warriors are now residing on the edge of my property as of yesterday, I feel much safer coming out here in the early morning and returning back to the city at night," Severio explained, his tone carrying a note of profound relief.
"Knowing that your boys are now patrolling around the farm, keeping a sharp eye out and making sure those wandering bandits and starving wolves don't come near my crops or my workers... it's a blessing. It is real action and real protection, unlike what that useless Commander Caius and the lazy, sweet roll eating guards of the hold provide us. As a former soldier of the Imperial Legion, I am genuinely happy to see some proper discipline and steel out here."
Sinmir nodded his head proudly at that, clearly pleased that his men were already making a positive impact on the locals, and he thanked the old Imperial for the kind praise.
It was then that Severio's eyes drifted away from Sinmir and landed squarely on Aerion, taking in the tall, imposing figure of the High Elf adorned in fine robes mixed with heavy iron weaponry, and the bright orange fox sitting obediently near his leather boots.
"Well now, why, isn't this the High Elf mage that has become the talk of the entire hold?" Severio asked, his eyes widening in recognition and a touch of awe. "The only one of your kind staying in the city, the one they say walked into Bleakwind Basin and killed two full grown giants entirely alone?"
Aerion, maintaining his flawless composure, nodded his head gracefully and introduced himself politely to Severio, ensuring his tone was respectful and entirely devoid of the haughty arrogance Nords usually expected from his race.
Severio returned the pleasantries, but his curiosity clearly got the better of him, and he looked between the two men, asking Aerion directly what a powerful, wealthy mage like him was doing out here at a simple farm with a grizzled warrior like Sinmir.
Before Sinmir could even open his mouth to stumble through an excuse, Aerion's high level Persuasion and rapid mental processing took over, seamlessly weaving a perfect, logical lie.
"Sinmir here has recently established a new mercenary company," Aerion responded smoothly, gesturing to the Nord. "He approached me in the Bannered Mare and asked if I would be interested in joining his group as magical support, and I have come here this morning simply to see the place where his men are staying and evaluate if the working conditions meet my standards before I agree to any contracts."
Hearing that, Severio raised a grey eyebrow in sheer surprise and turned to Sinmir, letting out a low whistle. "I didn't expect you to aim so high, Sinmir," the farmer said, impressed. "Actually trying to hire a High Elf mage, and a rumoured famous giant killer at that, to join your rugged little group? That's ambitious."
Sinmir, momentarily caught off guard by Aerion's flawlessly executed lie, stuttered for a fraction of a second before his own tactical instincts kicked in and he played along beautifully.
"W-well, yes," Sinmir agreed, clearing his throat and puffing out his chest. "Having a knowledgeable, powerful mage on our side helps tremendously when taking down those bandit camps that employ magic, or dealing with rogue necromancers, or burning out the trolls up in the mountains. It doesn't hurt to try recruiting the absolute best mage for hire in the hold currently, does it?"
Severio laughed heartily, slapping his knee in agreement. "I suppose it doesn't! And honestly, as long as Aerion's spells don't accidentally burn my wheat fields or my farmstead to the ground, I am perfectly fine having a mage staying here on the property."
Severio said, his tone entirely welcoming. "After all, back in my days serving in the Imperial Legion, I worked alongside many battlemages. Of course, High Elves are rare in the ranks, but I actually served under Legate Fasendil down in the Rift for a time, a brilliant Altmer commander, so I know firsthand that your people are unparalleled when it comes to magical warfare."
After saying all of that and effectively putting to rest any lingering racial tensions, Severio waved a hand good naturedly, telling the two of them that they could continue with whatever business they needed to do, while he was going to continue working around the fields with his assistants to check the irrigation trenches.
As Severio turned and walked away toward the mill, humming a marching tune, Aerion and Sinmir let out a collective, silent breath and began to walk toward the stone foundation storehouse that had become the secret base of Aerion's private guard forces, with Lupin trotting happily in tow.
"Good job on your feet, boss," Sinmir muttered in a low voice as they walked out of earshot, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I almost forgot for a second that our actual arrangement is supposed to be a closely guarded secret. If I had opened my mouth first, I might have just called you my employer right in front of him."
Aerion sighed, a long, exasperated sound that carried a hint of amusement. "You had better keep remembering, Sinmir, so that no one in Whiterun knows that I am the one holding your leash and funding this entire operation," Aerion warned gently but firmly.
Sinmir nodded, looking slightly chastised, before furrowing his brows in thought. "But what about the soldiers, boss? Should they know who is actually paying their wages, or should I tell them the same lie we just fed Severio?"
Aerion shook his head, his golden eyes fixed on the storehouse ahead. "No, the men must absolutely know who their true boss is, loyalty cannot be built on a foundation of total deception when it comes to the hand that feeds them."
Aerion explained, understanding the psychology of mercenaries perfectly. "They need to know that their gold comes from me, but they must also be sworn to keep it an absolute secret from the outside world. Tell them not to salute me or treat me like a nobleman when we are in public or when outsiders are present. All of them can, and should, talk casually with me to reduce the chances of any of them accidentally spilling the secret out through overly formal behavior."
When they finally reached the large wooden doors of the storehouse, Aerion saw several tough looking men and women loitering on the outside of the building, sharpening weapons on whetstones, adjusting the leather straps of their freshly issued iron armor, or simply smoking pipes in the crisp morning air, with the rest of the company presumably situated inside the makeshift barracks.
The moment Sinmir stepped into the clearing, the idle chatter ceased instantly, and the mercenaries straightened their postures, their eyes naturally gravitating toward the massive, heavily armed Nord who had given them a second chance at life, and then their gazes shifted to the tall, imposing High Elf standing silently beside him.
Sinmir cleared his throat, his booming voice carrying easily over the wind, calling all of them to gather around. "Listen up, you lot! Get out here!" Sinmir shouted toward the open doors of the storehouse.
This promt the remaining members of the company to file out quickly and form a loose, semi disciplined semicircle around the entrance. "There is someone very important I would like to introduce you to this morning, and I expect every single one of you to introduce yourselves to him properly, because this is the man whose gold bought the equipments you all currently holding."
Aerion stepped forward, his posture radiating absolute authority, his gaze sweeping over the ten individuals standing before him.
His enhanced perception, sharpened by his staggering level fifty four awareness, allowed him to instantly read the subtle shifts in their stances, the calluses on their hands, and the lethal potential hidden behind their rough exteriors.
They were exactly what he had asked for, not green farm boys looking for glory, but hardened, cynical veterans of Skyrim's unforgiving reality.
The group was heavily dominated by Nords, which was to be expected in the heart of the province, but Aerion was pleased to see a touch of diversity among the ranks, a testament to Sinmir's focus on skill over racial purity and that he is different compared to the Stormcloaks under Ulfirc.
Standing closest to the front was a massive, scarred Nord who looked like he could wrestle a bear and win. "Torsten Iron-Arm, boss," the man grunted, his voice like gravel grinding together.
"Former Whiterun city guard. Got stripped of my tabard and thrown out by Commander Caius because I beat a corrupt merchant half to death for cheating the refugees. Sinmir said you pay well for men who aren't afraid to break the rules to keep the peace."
Next to him stood a fierce looking Nord woman with half her face covered in pale, jagged scars, resting the heavy head of a two handed iron battleaxe against her booted foot. "They call me Runa Shield-Breaker," she stated flatly, her blue eyes cold and analytical.
"I spent five years running with a mercenary outfit in the Rift until our captain decided to steal our cut and run to Morrowind. I don't care about politics, Elf. I just care about the coin and having a commander who actually leads from the front."
To Runa's left stood a lean, wiry figure wrapped in dark leather armor, his pointed ears and sharp, angular features marking him clearly as a Wood Elf.
"Gwaering," the Bosmer said softly, his voice barely louder than the rustling grass, his hand resting casually near the quiver of arrows on his hip. "I was an adventurer once, scouting the deep Dwemer ruins out west, until Falmer ambushed my party in the dark. I was the only one fast enough to make it out alive. Sinmir promised me steady work above ground, so here I am."
Beside the quiet Bosmer was an Imperial man who stood with a rigid, undeniable military posture, his dark hair cut severely short.
"Titus Varr, formerly of the Imperial Legion, Fourth Cohort," the man announced with a crisp, formal nod. "I deserted my post after an incompetent noble born Legate marched half my unit into a Stormcloak ambush in the Pale just to secure a meaningless promotion. I fight for gold now, not for an Empire that wastes good men."
Leaning casually against the wooden wall of the storehouse, spinning an iron dagger flawlessly between his fingers, was a dark skinned Redguard with a wicked, confident grin.
"Rashid al-Dan, at your service," the Redguard purred, his accent thick with the rolling sands of Hammerfell. "I am a sellsword, pure and simple. I have fought in the sands of the Alik'r desert and the snows of Winterhold. I heard the captain was paying the bills and secure city, so I figured this outfit wouldn't be boring."
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 200/200 Stamina: 200/200 Magicka: 330/330 Level: 54
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 22), Sneak (Level 16), One Handed (Level 59), Restoration (Healing) (Level 7), Two Handed (Level 59), Lockpicking (Level 9), Archery (Level 69), Alteration (Level 4), Enchanting (Level 19), Light Armor (Level 40), & Block (Level 56)
[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