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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"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."
Jenassa sat back in her wooden chair, the heavy pouches of gold resting comfortably against the leather of her armor. A rare, genuine glint of excitement flashed in her crimson eyes as the reality of the arrangement settled in.
A lifetime contract with a wealthy, ambitious patron who promised her canvases worthy of her lethal art was a prize few mercenaries ever secured.
She offered a slow, deliberate nod of her head. "I will be there, Patron," she said, her gravelly voice dropping to a low, respectful murmur. "I will gather my supplies, sharpen my steel, and meet you tomorrow morning at the Bannered Mare. Expect me shortly after dawn."
Aerion nodded his head once, a crisp, singular acknowledgment of their new bond. He turned around, his fine robes sweeping over the floorboards, and signaled for his familiar. Lupin, who had been sitting patiently by the table, immediately fell in line behind his master's boots.
They walked toward the heavy oak doors of the Drunken Huntsman, but before Aerion pushed out into the crisp evening air, he paused. He turned his head slightly, his golden eyes locking onto Elrindir, the Bosmer tavern owner who was currently wiping down the main counter with a rag, still wearing a deeply ingrained scowl of racial animosity.
Aerion did not raise his voice. He did not sound angry or offended; rather, his tone carried the cool, heavy weight of absolute logical certainty.
"Master Elrindir," Aerion spoke, his melodic voice easily carrying across the quiet room. "I hold no love for the Aldmeri Dominion, nor do I support the atrocities the Thalmor committed when they marched through Valenwood. My homeland and my bloodline do not dictate my politics."
Elrindir stopped wiping the counter, his brow furrowing in genuine surprise.
"I would politely ask that you refrain from painting all High Elves with the exact same brush as the Justiciars," Aerion continued, his gaze piercing through the Wood Elf. "When you judge a man solely by the golden hue of his skin and the point of his ears, you make yourself look exactly like the Stormcloaks. And I assure you, if Ulfric's brutes ever win this civil war and seize control of Whiterun, they will make your life as a non Nord a living hell. Do not emulate the very bigotry that threatens your own existence."
Leaving the flabbergasted, entirely speechless Bosmer standing completely still behind his counter, Aerion turned back around and pushed open the heavy doors, stepping out into the cooling evening air of the Wind District.
As the doors closed behind him, Aerion took a deep, grounding breath. The cobblestone street leading down toward the Plains District was incredibly busy, the steady stream of merchants, guards, and laborers flowing like a river between the towering stone and timber houses.
As he walked, weaving through the evening rush, Aerion finally allowed himself to truly take in the sheer, overwhelming scale of the city he now operated within.
In his past life, viewing Skyrim through the lens of a video game, Whiterun had been a quaint, almost comically small settlement. It had possessed perhaps a few dozen notable residents, a handful of guards, and a market square that could be crossed in ten seconds. But walking these streets in reality was an entirely different experience.
This Whiterun was a sprawling, densely packed medieval metropolis. There were easily tens of thousands of people living, working, and dying within these massive defensive walls.
The city was a vital, thumping heart of commerce that connected the frozen north to the temperate south. While the overwhelming majority of the population were naturally Nords, towering, broad shouldered men and women clad in furs and forged iron, the city was a melting pot of refugees and opportunists.
He saw Imperial merchants haggling over ledger books, Breton spell weavers carrying bundles of alchemical herbs, Dark Elf laborers carrying heavy crates of ash yams, and Redguard sellswords standing guard outside wealthy estates.
Yet, even in this diverse sea of humanity, Aerion stood out conspicuously. The towering, golden skinned perfection of a High Elf was an incredibly rare sight in the heart of Skyrim.
He felt the weight of a thousand cautious, suspicious, and awestruck stares as he made his way down the winding steps. Lupin, sensing the overwhelming sensory input of the crowded streets, stuck incredibly close to Aerion's heels, the little fox trying his absolute best to follow along and make sure no distracted laborer or heavily armored guard accidentally stomped on his bushy tail.
When they finally reached the market square in the Plains District, it was completely packed with people. The central well was surrounded by gossiping women, the buildings around cast long shadows over the arguing vendors, and the air was thick with the smell of roasting meats and sweet perfumes.
Aerion navigated the chaotic square with practiced, aristocratic grace, walking up the short wooden steps and pushing his way into the Bannered Mare.
If the street outside was busy, the tavern inside was a roaring, suffocatingly packed ocean of bodies. The evening crowd had arrived in full force. The central hearth fire was blazing, casting an orange glow over the faces of dozens of patrons drinking mead, singing bawdy songs, and arguing loudly over the clatter of wooden plates.
As Aerion stepped through the threshold, carefully avoiding a spilled tankard of ale on the floorboards, a figure brushed past him in the crowd. It was Saadia. The Redguard woman was carrying a tray of empty tankards, her face a mask of practiced tavern wench hospitality, but as she bumped his shoulder, she leaned in close.
"Meet me in the kitchen," Saadia whispered quickly, her voice barely audible over the din of Mikael's lute playing. "I have something to inform you about."
Without waiting for his response, she slipped away into the sea of patrons. Aerion offered a subtle, almost imperceptible nod of his head. He didn't follow her immediately, waiting a few moments to ensure no one was tracking their interactions, before he smoothly altered his path, heading to the left and slipping past a group of rowdy mercenaries to enter the kitchen archway.
The kitchen was sweltering, the air thick with the smell of boiling venison stew and roasting garlic. Aerion pulled up a small, sturdy wooden stool near the basin and sat down, smoothing the front of his robes. Lupin immediately trotted under the large chopping block, finding a discarded, slightly bruised apple core on the stone floor, which the fox happily began to munch on with rapid, crunching bites.
A moment later, Saadia returned, pushing through the swinging wooden doors with a fresh stack of clean bowls. She set them down near the basin, ensuring her back was to the doorway so that to any casual observer, she simply looked like a servant complaining to a patron about the workload.
"What kind of information have you heard, Saadia?" Aerion asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the bubbling stew pot to avoid drawing attention to their conversation.
Saadia leaned over the basin, pretending to scrub a wooden plate. "The tavern has been incredibly loud today, Aerion," she murmured, her voice tight with underlying tension. "I have been listening in on the tables near the back. Several wealthy Nords and a few off duty Imperial couriers have been talking over their ale. It seems General Tullius is making a massive, unprecedented move."
Aerion's eyes narrowed slightly. "Explain."
"He is completely reorganizing the Imperial Legion forces stationed here in Skyrim," Saadia whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she scrubbed. "He is no longer just holding forts and waiting out the winter. The couriers say Tullius is beginning to launch massive, coordinated attacks against the Stormcloak territories. We are talking about the main Imperial army, tens of thousands of heavily armed legionnaires marching out of Solitude and the other holds supporting the Imperials, to crush the rebellion once and for all. The land is going to become much more chaotic now. The war has truly begun."
Hearing that critical piece of macro level intelligence, Aerion nodded his head slowly. This was a massive shift in the geopolitical landscape.
In the game, the civil war remained entirely static until the player intervened. But in this living, breathing reality, General Tullius was a brilliant tactician who wasn't going to sit idly by while Ulfric gathered strength.
"If Tullius is mobilizing the full weight of the Legion to push east, then the situation will become much more dire around Whiterun very soon," Aerion calculated aloud, his mind rapidly processing the tactical implications for Sinmir's mercenary company.
"Whiterun is the central hub of the entire province. Whether the Empire pushes toward Windhelm in the end or the Stormcloaks push toward Solitude in the end, the two massive armies will inevitably clash through the central plains. Our supply lines and trade routes will be highly unstable."
It was a dangerous development, but chaos was a ladder, and Aerion was already positioning himself to climb it. "You have done exceptionally well, Saadia. I thank you for this information. Keep your ears open for any specific troop movements near the borders of the hold."
Aerion moved to stand up, intending to leave the kitchen and return to his room, but before he could even shift his weight off the stool, Saadia suddenly spun around. Her wet, soap stained hand reached out and tightly grabbed hold of his wrist.
Aerion paused, looking down at the hand gripping his fine robes, and then slowly raised his golden eyes to look at Saadia's face. The Redguard woman was absolutely terrified. The composed, aristocratic mask of 'Iman of House Suda' had completely cracked, revealing the desperate, hunted fugitive beneath.
"Is there something else, Saadia?" Aerion asked, his voice remaining perfectly calm and level.
Saadia nodded her head frantically, swallowing hard. She looked over his shoulder toward the empty archway before leaning in closer, her breath smelling faintly of cheap wine and fear.
"I... I heard something else, Aerion," she stammered, her grip tightening on his wrist. "From a couple of traveling traders who stopped in for a drink an hour ago. They were complaining about being harassed on the roads near the Falkreath border by a group of heavily armed foreigners. From the way the traders described their curved swords, their dark skin, and their traditional desert garb... it is them. The Alik'r."
A cold shiver seemed to run down her spine as she spoke the name of her hunters. "They are in the province, Aerion, and they are moving aggressively. I am terrified that they will track me down here to Whiterun and cause a scene. You promised me protection. I need to know you will uphold your end of the deal."
Aerion was briefly surprised by how quickly the timeline of the game was advancing, but his meta knowledge instantly provided the context he needed.
He knew exactly how the Alik'r operated. They were elite trackers, yes, but they were also arrogant. They had likely been tracking Saadia's movements for months, and their clues and trails were inevitably leading them straight toward the trading hub of Whiterun.
However, Aerion also knew the political reality of the city. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was fiercely protective of his neutrality. He wouldn't allow a band of foreign, armed mercenaries from Hammerfell to simply march through his gates and start interrogating his citizens. The city guards would absolutely block them at the main entrance, forcing the Alik'r to either sneak in or hire proxies.
Aerion gently but firmly reached over with his free hand, prying Saadia's trembling fingers off his wrist.
"Keep yourself completely calm, Saadia," Aerion instructed, his voice dropping into a soothing, deeply hypnotic cadence, lacing his words with the full, overwhelming power of his leveled Persuasion skill. "Panic makes you sloppy, and sloppy fugitives are easily caught. Listen to me."
He held her panicked gaze, his golden eyes radiating an absolute, unshakeable confidence that seemed to physically push back the shadows in the kitchen.
"The Alik'r are tracking a ghost across an entire province," Aerion lied smoothly, framing his meta knowledge as his own superior intelligence network. "It will take them a long time to navigate the chaotic roads, especially with the Imperial Legion mobilizing. And even when they finally reach the gates of Whiterun, Jarl Balgruuf will not permit a foreign military force to enter his neutral city. They will be stopped at the walls."
He leaned in closer, his voice turning dark and utterly lethal. "And if they attempt to bypass those walls... before they can even ask a single merchant about your whereabouts, I will intercept them. I promised you that I can make things disappear into the void, Saadia. Rest assured, the Alik'r will simply cease to exist."
Saadia stopped trembling. She looked deeply into Aerion's golden eyes, searching for any hint of deceit, any sign of a hollow boast. But she found nothing but the terrifying certainty of a mage who had already proven he possessed powers beyond mortal comprehension.
A brilliant, comforting golden light flared in Aerion's mental interface as his words successfully extinguished the terror in her heart.
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 62!]
[Persuasion Skill Leveled Up to 63!]
Saadia took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly nodded her head, her posture relaxing. "I... I believe you, Aerion. I will trust in your protection. I will keep my head down."
"See that you do," Aerion replied softly.
With her fears assuaged, Saadia quickly turned back to the basin, burying her hands in the soapy water as another patron yelled for a refill from the main room. Aerion stood up, whistled sharply for Lupin, and left the sweltering kitchen, stepping back into the roaring chaos of the tavern.
He decided to spend the rest of the evening relaxing in the main room of the Bannered Mare, taking a quiet seat at a small table near the back corner where he could observe the flow of the crowd. He ordered a simple bottle of Alto wine paying 6 septims, nursing the drink as his strategic mind continued to calculate his next moves.
As his eyes swept across the patrons, they landed on a very specific, highly imposing figure sitting alone at a large table near the hearth fire. It was Uthgerd the Unbroken.
Just as she appeared in the game, the massive, battle hardened Nord woman was dressed from her torso to her boots in a full, impeccably maintained set of heavy steel plate armor.
She sat with a brooding, unapproachable aura, drinking deeply from a massive tankard of mead, her scarred face set in a permanent scowl that dared any foolish man to challenge her to a brawl.
Aerion watched her for several minutes, analyzing the heavy iron greatsword resting against her chair. She was a powerhouse, a rejected Companion who hit like a runaway wagon. She would be an exceptional addition to his forces, either as a heavy shock trooper for Sinmir's company or as a secondary bodyguard.
However, Aerion made the calculated decision not to approach her today.
He took a slow sip of his wine, his eyes drifting away from the armored woman. He had too many plates spinning in the air right now.
He had just established Sinmir's mercenary company, secured Ysolda's impending purchase of the Bannered Mare, processed Saadia's critical intelligence regarding the Imperial mobilization, and hired the most lethal assassin in the city.
He needed to organize his current contacts and ensure his employees were functioning perfectly before he added another volatile personality to his payroll.
Furthermore, he had a very specific, highly dangerous agenda set for tomorrow.
When Jenassa arrived at the inn at dawn, he wasn't going to have her sit around guarding his room. He was going to bring the Dark Elf out on a true adventure far outside the safety of the city walls. He needed to retrieve a specific artifact, something of immense historical and magical value that he could present to Farengar Secret-Fire.
If he brought the Dragonstone out of Bleak Falls Barrow and handed it directly to the arrogant court wizard before Jarl Balgruuf even had the chance to officially post the bounty, it would make Farengar deeply, undeniably indebted to him.
It would cement Aerion's reputation not just as a lucky giant killer, but as a master scholar and an invaluable asset to Dragonsreach.
Of course, to navigate the ancient, trap filled Nordic ruin, he would need the key. That meant his first stop tomorrow morning wouldn't be the frozen peaks of the barrow, but the quiet lumber village of Riverwood.
He needed to stop at the Riverwood Trader and legally purchase the Golden Claw from Lucan Valerius, or, if the thief Arvel the Swift had already struck, Aerion would simply have to hunt the fool down in the ruins. Aerion smiled over the rim of his wine glass, listening to the crackle of the hearth fire. The pieces were all on the board, and tomorrow, he would begin to sweep them away.
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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 63), 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