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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"I will procure the funds in several days," Aerion promised smoothly. "Go to the caravans, Ysolda. Enjoy your trading today. Because soon, you will need it to be negotiating with Hulda."
Ysolda nodded her head at the High Elf's flawless logic, a deep, genuine gratitude washing over her features as she thanked Aerion once again for his unprecedented kindness.
Excitement was visibly coursing through her veins, practically vibrating in her stance as she confessed that she truly could not believe she was actually going to own the inn she had wanted for so long.
It had been a distant, almost impossible dream just a week ago, a fantasy she had quietly nurtured while selling apples and cabbages in the market square. Now, thanks to the enigmatic mage standing before her, it was on the verge of becoming an undeniable reality.
Aerion let out a small, measured smile, leaning slightly against the cold stone of the city wall. "It is a dream you have earned through your own ambition, Ysolda," he murmured smoothly. "However, once the ink on the deed is dry, you must not forget to subtly inform Ri'saad of your new acquisition. The Khajiit caravans operate on the fringes of society, entirely dependent on the goodwill of those inside the walls. They will likely be even happier to trade with you, knowing that their primary contact inside Whiterun is no longer just a market vendor, but the undisputed owner of the largest and most influential inn in the entire hold. It will elevate your standing with them immensely."
Hearing that piece of tactical advice, Ysolda slowly nodded her head in thoughtful agreement, but her merchant instincts quickly flared up, tempering her excitement with caution.
"I will certainly think about it, Aerion," she replied, her tone shifting to a more guarded, analytical cadence. "But in the world of trade, rushing to show all of your cards to your partners is sometimes not the best idea. If Ri'saad knows exactly how much influence and capital I suddenly wield, he might alter his prices or demand steeper tariffs on the exotic goods he smuggles in. I must navigate the revelation carefully."
Aerion's smile widened a fraction, thoroughly impressed by her natural acumen. "A very wise perspective," he agreed seamlessly. "It was merely a suggestion, Ysolda. You are the face of this enterprise, and the final decision on how to handle the caravans lies entirely with you."
Ysolda nodded firmly at that, her confidence restored. Glancing up at the sky and noting the position of the sun, she realized she was going to be late for her scheduled meeting with the caravans outside the gates.
She quickly offered her warm goodbyes to Aerion, who politely returned the sentiment, watching as the young, ambitious Nord hurried out through the heavy iron portcullis, her mind undoubtedly racing with plans for the Bannered Mare.
With his intelligence network now on the verge of total operational control, Aerion turned away from the main gates. He walked back into the bustling Plains District, taking a sharp left to look at the uphill, cobblestone path that led directly toward the Wind District and the large, distinctively structured building known as the Drunken Huntsman.
As he walked, his tactical mind shifted gears. He had Sinmir and his company of mercenaries stationed at Pelagia Farm.
They were a hammer, a heavy, brutal instrument of blunt force meant to guard perimeters, hold lines, and fight prolonged skirmishes against wolves and bandits. But a man playing the great game of Skyrim could not rely on a hammer alone.
He needed a scalpel. He needed a shadow that could slip through the cracks, a blade that could be deployed quietly when a heavy mercenary company would draw too much unwanted attention from the city guards or the Jarl's court.
Thinking of Jenassa, the cynical, lethally efficient Dark Elf mercenary who resided in Whiterun, Aerion decided to take this perfect opportunity to go and check if she was already established here in the city.
If she was currently nursing a drink in the Huntsman, he fully intended to hire her. He didn't just want a temporary follower for a single dungeon delve, he wanted a dedicated assassin and a personal bodyguard.
He planned to offer her a highly lucrative lifetime contract deal, complete with steady monthly payments, an arrangement that would be incredibly difficult for a wandering sellsword to refuse.
With a soft whistle, he signaled for Lupin, and the cinnamon colored fox trotted dutifully up the stone steps beside him. They approached the heavy wooden doors of the Drunken Huntsman, the smell of roasting venison and fletching glue already wafting out into the street.
Aerion pushed the door open and stepped inside. As expected, the atmosphere of the Huntsman was vastly different from the Bannered Mare. It was noticeably less crowded, lacking the boisterous, drunken singing and the roaring hearth side debates.
Instead, it possessed a quieter, more subdued ambiance favored by hunters, rangers, and those who preferred to drink in peace.
There were several patrons scattered across the wooden tables, and Aerion's sharp eyes immediately recognized the wealthy, fur clad figure of Olfrid Battle Born sitting in a corner, quietly nursing a tankard of high quality ale.
"Well now, what do we have here?"
A voice, laced with a very distinct, unapologetic undertone of malice, called out from behind the main counter, breaking the quiet murmur of the tavern.
Aerion turned his head to see the owner of the establishment, the Bosmer named Elrindir, leaning heavily on the polished wood. The Wood Elf's eyes were narrowed, his posture rigid with the ingrained hostility that almost all native Bosmer felt toward the High Elves after the Thalmor's brutal purges in Valenwood.
"Are you looking to buy some hunting supplies, Altmer, or are you just here to cause trouble?" Elrindir asked, his tone perfectly balancing the line between a merchant's greeting and a barely veiled threat.
Aerion, completely unfazed by the racial animosity, merely shook his head, his expression remaining an impassive, aristocratic mask. "I am not here for supplies, nor am I here for trouble, Sir Elrindir," Aerion replied smoothly, his melodic voice carrying easily across the room. "I am simply looking for someone."
Hearing that, Elrindir let out a short, dismissive huff. He crossed his arms and leaned further over the counter, still treating Aerion with a heavy dose of snark. "Is that right? And just who is the great High Elf searching for in a humble hunter's lodge?"
"I am inquiring to see if there is a capable mercenary here available for hire," Aerion stated plainly.
Elrindir snorted, a sharp, humorless sound. He uncrossed his arms and pointed a calloused finger toward the shadowy, recessed seating area tucked away behind Aerion's current position.
"There's a Dunmer lady sitting over there in the alcove," Elrindir said, his tone dripping with a mix of respect for the warrior and disdain for his current customer. "Her name is Jenassa. She's been staying here at the Huntsman for more than a month now, fancying herself as a premier blade for hire. She's been contracted by a couple of people here in the city for odd jobs, mostly clearing out vermin or retrieving stolen goods. If you want a mercenary, she's the only one drinking my ale."
Aerion felt a surge of satisfaction upon hearing that his target was indeed present, but he ensured not a single trace of that happiness showed on his composed face. He offered Elrindir a polite, shallow nod of gratitude. "I thank you for the information."
As Aerion turned on his heel to head toward the dimly lit alcove, his enhanced elven hearing easily picked up Elrindir muttering in a low, bitter voice under his breath. "So what if he is the giant killer the whole city is talking about... he is still just a High Elf. Arrogant bastards, the lot of them."
Aerion completely ignored the muttered insult. Engaging in a petty argument with a tavern owner over geopolitical grievances would serve no tactical purpose. He walked with measured, silent steps toward the back of the room, his eyes adjusting to the shadows of the alcove.
There, sitting alone at a small, circular wooden table, was a Dark Elf woman. She was clad in a full, meticulously maintained set of leather armor that stretched from her torso down to her dark, reinforced boots.
A beautifully crafted hunting bow and a tightly packed leather quiver of iron arrows rested against the wooden wall right beside her chair. She was currently running a whetstone along the edge of a wicked looking iron dagger, the rhythmic shhh shhh sound filling the quiet corner.
Before Aerion could even open his mouth to offer a greeting, Jenassa's crimson eyes flicked up, locking onto his golden ones with the predatory intensity of a striking viper. She didn't miss a beat.
"I heard your conversation with the Bosmer," Jenassa spoke, her voice carrying that distinct, gravelly rasp characteristic of the Dunmer, yet perfectly smooth and deadly calm. "You do not walk softly for a mage. So, tell me... why is the only High Elf in the city, the man who has currently become the favorite topic of discussion for every gossiping guard and merchant in the hold, coming into this tavern looking for a mercenary to hire?"
Aerion paused, respecting her sharp situational awareness. He offered a polite, formal inclination of his head. "I am Aerion," he introduced himself smoothly, before gesturing down to the floor. "And this is my companion, Lupin."
Jenassa glanced down at the fox, who was currently sitting politely, staring back at the assassin with unblinking amber eyes. She let out a soft, amused hum, returning her gaze to Aerion. "A pet fox and fine robes. You certainly know how to cultivate an image, Aerion. But you haven't answered my question."
"I am looking for a mercenary, Jenassa, because I require a very specific set of skills that a standard city guard or a brawling tavern drunk cannot provide," Aerion explained, taking a seat opposite her without asking for permission. "However, I must clarify. I am not looking to hire you for a simple, fleeting task. I am not looking to clear a single bandit camp or retrieve a lost family heirloom. I am offering you a lifetime contract."
Jenassa stopped moving the whetstone. The rhythmic scraping ceased entirely as she lowered the dagger, her red eyes narrowing in deep suspicion.
"A lifetime contract," Aerion repeated, letting the weight of the words settle. "As my personal bodyguard and primary operative. In exchange for your absolute loyalty and your blade, I will provide you with a very lucrative monthly wage, which can easily be restructured into weekly payments if you so desire. You will never have to sit in a tavern waiting for petty coin again."
Hearing that, Jenassa's interest was undeniably piqued, but she was a survivor of Morrowind's harsh reality; she did not trust easily. She leaned back in her wooden chair, resting her hands on her lap.
"Oh, a lifetime contract," Jenassa mused, her gravelly voice laced with heavy skepticism. "That sounds incredibly interesting, Aerion. It also sounds incredibly suspicious. A lifetime contract requires a massive sum of gold paid entirely upfront to secure the binding of the blade. Are you absolutely sure you have that kind of money? Because from what I know, and from the rumors I have heard circulating the markets, you are just a wandering, traveling mage who happened to get lucky with a pair of giants."
Aerion let out a small, mysterious smile, leaning forward slightly into the candlelight. "Do not believe everything you hear in the markets, Jenassa. You are a woman who operates in the shadows, you should know better than anyone that I have my own secrets, just as you undoubtedly have yours."
Jenassa smiled at that, a slow, dangerous curving of her lips that revealed a hint of her predatory nature. She liked a man who didn't flinch.
"Very well, Aerion," she said softly, setting the whetstone down on the table. "You have my attention. But if you want a lifetime of my service, you are going to have to do better than just throwing numbers at me. Convince me. Why should I accept this offer, abandoning my freedom to follow you? And do not just tell me it is for the septims. Gold is easily spent, and life is easily lost."
Aerion knew this was the critical moment. He drew upon his deep, meta knowledge of her character from his past life. Jenassa wasn't just a thug who killed for money, she was a cynic who viewed violence as a terrible, beautiful canvas. She sought meaning in the bloodshed.
"I will not insult you by pretending this is only about coin," Aerion began, his voice dropping to a hypnotic, persuasive cadence, weaving his Persuasion skill into every carefully chosen syllable. "I know how you view your profession, Jenassa. You are not a butcher. You are an artist. You see the dance of the blade, the silence of the shadow, and the sudden, inevitable arrival of death as a form of dark poetry."
Jenassa's crimson eyes widened slightly, clearly shocked that this High Elf had managed to read her internal philosophy so flawlessly.
"Wandering from tavern to tavern, taking contracts from petty merchants to kill cave bears or simple highwaymen... that is a waste of your canvas," Aerion continued, pressing his advantage. "It is uninspired. It is beneath you. I am not offering to be your master. I am offering to be your Patron."
He leaned in closer, his golden eyes burning with absolute conviction. "If you bind your blade to me, I will provide you with true art. The people I intend to cross, the enemies I intend to dismantle... they are not simple beasts. They are powerful, they are corrupt, and they deserve to be painted in red. I will point you toward canvases that are worthy of your skill. And while you practice your art, I will ensure that you are protected, respected, and entirely unburdened by the trivialities of survival."
Aerion sat back, letting the philosophical appeal sink in before delivering the lethal, undeniable financial strike.
"As for the practicalities of my patronage," Aerion stated smoothly, "I am prepared to pay you three thousand septims, entirely upfront, right here and now, to seal the lifetime contract. Furthermore, you will receive a standard retention fee of three hundred septims every single month. If you prefer to see the coin flow more regularly, we can arrange for sixty septims a week. And, naturally, there will be substantial bonuses awarded for exceptionally executed work."
Jenassa was entirely silent. She stared at the High Elf, her fingers lightly tracing the leather wrapped hilt of her iron dagger. It was an astronomical amount of money. Three thousand septims upfront was enough to buy a small comfortable house in a walled city. The weekly stipend alone was more than most honest laborers made in a month.
But it was the loss of her freedom that held her back. She had always answered only to herself. She opened her mouth, the word 'no' forming on her lips, ready to decline the golden cage.
But Aerion wasn't finished. His system flared, pushing his persuasive aura to the absolute maximum.
"Do not let the illusion of freedom blind you to true purpose, Jenassa," Aerion whispered, his voice wrapping around her mind like velvet. "What is freedom if you spend it sitting in the shadows of a tavern, waiting for scraps? Join me. Walk in the light when you choose, strike from the dark when I command, and never worry about the weight of your purse again. We will reshape the landscape of this province together, and you will be the blade that carves the new borders."
The sheer, overwhelming weight of his charisma, combined with the perfect psychological appeal to her morbid artistry and the undeniable financial security, finally shattered her resistance.
Jenassa closed her mouth, swallowing the rejection. She looked down at her dagger, then back up at Aerion, a spark of dark excitement igniting in her crimson eyes.
"A Patron of the dark arts," Jenassa murmured, a genuine, thrilling smile breaking across her face. "You weave a very dangerous, very beautiful web, Aerion. Three thousand upfront. Sixty a week. And a steady supply of worthy canvases."
She sheathed her dagger with a sharp, decisive click.
"I accept your terms, Patron," Jenassa declared, extending her dark, calloused hand across the table. "My blade is yours, for as long as we both draw breath."
Aerion reached out and firmly gripped her hand, sealing the lifetime contract.
Immediately, a brilliant, triumphant cascade of golden light erupted in his mental interface, the system heavily rewarding him for successfully bending the will of one of the most stubborn, independent mercenaries in Skyrim through pure, unadulterated dialogue.
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 59!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 60!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 61!]
"Excellent," Aerion said, his voice thrumming with satisfaction. He reached into his satchel, accessing his inventory, and materialized three heavy, tightly packed leather pouches, each containing exactly one thousand septims. He placed them deliberately on the table between them.
"Your upfront capital," Aerion stated, watching as Jenassa eagerly pulled the heavy pouches toward her armor. "Take the rest of the day to secure your belongings and finalize your affairs here at the Huntsman. Tomorrow morning, meet me at the Bannered Mare to begin our work."
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 200/200 Stamina: 200/200 Magicka: 330/330 Level: 57
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level 37/37), Persuasion (Level 61), 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 = 57,651